It is true he had as much again left for himself, but to be the possessor of only a single million is nevertheless a fearful thought to anyone who has hitherto been the possessor of two millions.
The poor plutocrat! How deeply it disturbed him to be obliged to pay his only sister her due portion! How the constant thought that he was now only half as rich as he had been before gnawed his life away! Poor, poor plutocrat! Szilard had a brilliant career--a career extending far beyond the horizon of this simple story.

He never married.

Count Kengyelesy quizzed him often enough and was continually asking him why he did not try his luck again with his former ideal now that she had become a widow.

All such questions, however, he used to evade in a corresponding tone of jocularity.

But once when Kengyelesy inquired seriously why he never approached Baroness Hatszegi and at the same time reproached him for his want of feeling in so obstinately keeping out of the poor lady's way, Szilard replied: "I am not one of those who can be thrown away to-day and picked up again to-morrow." After that the count never mentioned Henrietta's name in Szilard's presence again--and who knows whether there was not some impediment between these two from which no sacrament could absolve them.