there. Do you think you can spare it?'

'Yes; I think I can,' he said, smiling.

Then she led him up-stairs through the old lumber rooms, picking out here
and there some generally broken and always worthless piece of furniture,
pleading for it timidly, and strangely delighted when he nodded, granting
her every request. She asked him to pull out what she had chosen from the
_débris_, and a curious collection they made in the passage--dim and
worm-eaten pictures, small book-cases, broken vases which she proposed
mending.

Hubert wiped the dust from his hands and coat-sleeves.

'What a lot of things you have given me! Now we shall be able to get on
nicely with our furnishing.'

'What furnishing?'

'The furnishing of the little house in London where Julia and I are going
to live. You said you intended to add a hundred a year to the three hundred
a year which Mr. Burnett should have left me; I don't see why you should do
such a thing, but if you do we shall have four hundred a year to live upon.
Julia says that we shall then be able to afford to give fifty pounds a year
for a house. We can get a very nice little house, she says, for that--of
course, in one of the suburbs. The great expense will be the furnishing; we
are going to do it on the hire system. I daresay one can get very nice
things in that way, but I do want to make the place look a little like
Ashwood; that is why I'm asking you for these things. I was always fond of
playing in these old lumber-rooms, and these dim old pictures, which I