“This shabby old man, it seems, was one Peter Reid, a wealthy London business man, and owner of The Rigs, born and bred in Priorsford, who had just heard from his doctor that he had not long to live, and had come back to his childhood’s home meaning to die there.  He had no relations and few friends, and had made up his mind to leave his money to the first person who did anything for him without thought of payment.  (He seems to have been a hard, suspicious type of man who had not attracted kindness.) So Fate guided his steps to Jean, and this is the result.  Yes, rather far-fetched, I agree, but Fate is often like a novelette.

“Mr. Peter Reid had meant to ask the Jardines to leave The Rigs and let him settle there, but—­there must have been a soft part somewhere in the hard little man—­he hadn’t the heart to do it when he found how attached they were to the place.

“I was at The Rigs when the lawyer’s letter came.  Jean as an heiress is very funny and, at the same time, horribly touching.  At first she could think of nothing but that the lonely old man she had tried to be kind to was dead, and wept bitterly.  Then as she began to realise the fact of the money she was aghast, suffocated with the thought of her own wealth.  She told us piteously that it wouldn’t change her at all.  I think the poor child already felt the golden barrier that wealth builds round its owners.  I don’t think Mr. Peter Reid was kind, though perhaps he meant to be.  Jean is such a conscientious, anxious pilgrim at any time, and I’m afraid the wealth will hang round her neck like the Ancient Mariner’s albatross.

" ...  I have been wondering, Biddy, how this will affect your chances.  I know you felt as I did how nice it would be to give Jean all the things that she has never had and which money can buy.  I admit I am horribly disappointed about it, but I’m not at all sure that this odd trick of fortune’s won’t help you.  Her attitude was that marriage with you was unthinkable; you had so much and she had so little.  Well, this evens things up. Don’t come.  Don’t write. Leave her alone to try her wings.  She will want to try all sorts of schemes for helping people, and I’m afraid the poor child will get many bad falls.  So long as she remains in Priorsford with people like Mrs. Hope and the Macdonalds to watch over her she can’t come to any harm.  Don’t be anxious.  Honestly, Biddy, I think she cares for you.  I’m glad you asked her when she was poor.”

* * * * *

When the news of Jean’s fortune broke over Priorsford, tea-parties had no lack of material for conversation.

Miss Watson and Miss Teenie, much more excited than Jean herself, ranged gaily round the circle of their acquaintances, drank innumerable cups of tea, and discussed the matter in all its bearings.