features. He hung his head and was silent.

"A wife," Scarlett Trent repeated with contempt, "and all the rest
of it of course. Oh, what poor donkeys you young men are! Here
are you, with your way to make in the world, with your foot scarcely
upon the bottom rung of the ladder, grubbing along on a few bob a
week, and you choose to go and chuck away every chance you ever might
have for a moment's folly. A poor, pretty face I suppose. A
moonlight walk on a Bank Holiday, a little maudlin sentiment, and
over you throw all your chances in life. No wonder the herd is
so great, and the leaders so few," he added, with a sneer.

The young man raised his head. Once more the pink spot was burning.
Yet how hard to be dignified with the man from whom comes one's
daily bread.

"You are mistaken, sir," he said. "I am quite happy and quite
satisfied."

Scarlett Trent laughed scornfully.

"Then you don't look it," he exclaimed.

"I may not, sir," the young man continued, with a desperate courage,
"but I am. After all happiness is spelt with different letters for
all of us. You have denied yourself - worked hard, carried many
burdens and run great risks to become a millionaire. I too have
denied myself, have worked and struggled to make a home for the
girl I cared for. You have succeeded and you are happy. I can hold
Edith's - I beg your pardon, my wife's hand in mine and I am happy.