In that restful waiting attitude, with a smile on her face, she made a perfect picture, and Helmsley stole a side-glance at his companion, to see if he seemed to be in any way impressed by her appearance.

Angus Reay was certainly looking at her, but what he thought could hardly be guessed by his outward expression.

They reached the gate, and she opened it.
"I was getting anxious about you, David!"-- she said; "you aren't quite strong enough to be out in such a cold wind." Then she turned her eyes enquiringly on Reay, who lifted his cap while Helmsley explained his presence.
"This is a gentleman who is staying in the village--Mr.Reay,"-- he said--"He's been very kind in helping me up the hill--and I said you would give him a cup of tea." "Why, of course!"-- and Mary smiled--"Please come in, sir!" She led the way, and in another few minutes, all three of them were seated in her little kitchen round the table and Mary was busy pouring out the tea and dispensing the usual good things that are always found in the simplest Somersetshire cottage,--cream, preserved fruit, scones, home-made bread and fresh butter.
"So you met David on the seashore ?" she said, turning her soft dark-blue eyes enquiringly on Reay, while gently checking with one hand the excited gambols of Charlie, who, as an epicurean dog, always gave himself up to the wildest enthusiasms at tea-time, owing to his partiality for a small saucer of cream which came to him at that hour--"I sometimes think he must expect to pick up a fortune down among the shells and seaweed, he's so fond of walking about there!"-- And she smiled as she put Helmsley's cup of tea before him, and gently patted his wrinkled hand in the caressing fashion a daughter might show to a father whose health gave cause for anxiety.
"Well, _I_ certainly don't go down to the shore in any such expectation!" said Reay, laughing--"Fortunes are not so easily picked up, are they, David ?" "No, indeed!" replied Helmsley, and his old eyes sparkled up humorously under their cavernous brows; "fortunes take some time to make, and one doesn't meet millionaires every day!" "Millionaires!" exclaimed Reay--"Don't speak of them! I hate them!" Helmsley looked at him stedfastly.
"It's best not to hate anybody,"-- he said--"Millionaires are often the loneliest and most miserable of men." "They deserve to be!" declared Reay, hotly--"It isn't right--it isn't just that two or three, or let us say four or five men should be able to control the money-markets of the world.

They generally get their wealth through some unscrupulous 'deal,' or through 'sweating' labour.

I hate all 'cornering' systems.