Catherine smiled that rare and wonderful smile which transfigured her. She picked up the pieces of paper.
“I’m not afraid of any mistake. I saw you count them, and that’s good enough for me.” She addressed Mr. Stewart. “I suppose no receipt is wanted? I’ll give you one if you like.”
“No receipt is wanted.” Mr. Stewart’s tone was dry. The smile which wrinkled the corners of his lips was of quite a different type from hers. “You needn’t trouble.”
“Hugh!” she exclaimed, turning to the Bath chair, “just look at these! What won’t they mean to us! My darling!”
That time the invalid allowed the endearing epithet to go unrebuked. The girl placed the notes on the apron in front of him. He touched one or two of them, then turned to Catherine. She was kneeling quite close to his chair. She whispe
