Still shrinking towards a position where Hilliard could not easily
observe her, the young widow told her story. She had consented to
marry a man of whom her brother-in-law knew little but the name, one
Ezra Marr; he was turned forty, a widower without children, and
belonged to a class of small employers of labour known in Birmingham
as "little masters." The contrast between such a man and Maurice
Hilliard's brother was sufficiently pronounced; but the widow
nervously did her best to show Ezra Marr in a favourable light.

"And then," she added after a pause, while Hilliard was reflecting,
"I couldn't go on being a burden on you. How very few men would have
done what you have----"

"Stop a minute. Is _that_ the real reason? If so----"

Hurriedly she interposed.

"That was only one of the reasons--only one."

Hilliard knew very well that her marriage had not been entirely
successful; it seemed to him very probable that with a husband of
the artisan class, a vigorous and go-ahead fellow, she would be
better mated than in the former instance. He felt sorry for his
little niece, but there again sentiment doubtless conflicted with
common-sense. A few more questions, and it became clear to him that
he had no ground of resistance.

"Very well. Most likely you are doing a wise thing. And half this
money is yours; you'll find it useful."