there might be in that black box under the bed one could not say,
but surely you could not be so relentless a miser for so long a
period without accumulating a very agreeable amount. Did the girl
realise that she would, perhaps, be rich? Uncle Mathew licked his
lips with his tongue. So quiet and self-possessed was she that you
could not tell what she was thinking. Were she only pretty she might
marry anybody. As it was, with that figure . . . But she was a good
girl. Uncle Mathew felt kind and tender-hearted towards her. He
would advise her about life of which he had had a very considerable
experience, and of which, of course, she knew nothing. His heart was
warm, although it would have been warmer still had he been able to
drink a glass of something before starting out.

"And what will you do now, my dear, do you think?" he asked.

They had left the deep lanes and struck across the hard-rutted
fields. A thin powder of snow lay upon the land, and under the
yellow light of the winter sky the surface was blue, shadowed with
white patches where the snow had fallen more thickly. The trees and
hedges were black and hard against the white horizon that was
tightly stretched like the paper of a Japanese screen. The smell of
burning wood was in the air, and once and again a rook slowly swung
its wheel, cutting the air as it flew. The cold was so pleasantly
sharp that it was the best possible thing for Uncle Mathew, who was
accustomed to an atmosphere of hissing gas, unwashen glasses, and
rinds of cheese.

Maggie did not answer his question but herself asked one.

"Uncle Mathew, do you believe in religion?"