He thought of Maisie and her possible needs.

It was a new thing to think of anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself.

Here at last was an outlet for that cash balance.

He could adorn Maisie barbarically with jewelry,--a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,--the cool, temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between his own.

It was an absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on one finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings.