Varick was one of those men to whom the possession of money is as essential to life as the air they breathe is to most human beings.

Till this unexpected second marriage of his he had often been obliged to live on, and by, his wits.
Then, some months later--for she and Varick were not given to writing to one another when apart, their friendship had never been of that texture--she had received a sad letter from him saying that his wife was seriously ill.

The letter had implied, too, that he ought to have been told, before the marriage had taken place, that his wife's family had been one riddled with consumption.

Blanche had written back at once--by that time she was a good deal nearer home than Portugal, though still abroad--asking if she could "do anything ?" And he had answered that no, there was nothing to be done.

"Poor Milly" had a horror of sanatoriums, so he was going to take her to some quiet place on the south coast.