he would live to grow up.  In that case, supposing her stepson had managed to ingratiate himself with the broker, why might he not hope to become his heir?  Now this interloper, as she called Grant, had stepped into the place which her own favorite—­his name was Willis Ford—­should have had.  Mrs. Estabrook felt aggrieved, and unjustly treated, and naturally incensed at Grant, who was the unconscious cause of her disappointment.  She returned to the charge, though, had she been wiser, she would have foreborne.

“Do you think a poor boy like this Grant Thornton is a suitable companion for a rich man’s son, Mr. Reynolds?  Excuse me for suggesting it, but I am so interested in dear Herbert.”

“Grant Thornton is the son of a country minister, and has had an excellent training,” said the broker, coldly.  “The fact that he is poor is no objection in my eyes.  I think, Mrs. Estabrook, we will dismiss the subject.  I think myself competent to choose my son’s associates.”

“I hope you will excuse me,” said the housekeeper, seeing that she had gone too far.  “I am so attached to the dear child.”

“If you are, you will not object to the extra trouble you may have with his clothes, since his health is benefited.”

“That artful young beggar has wound his way into his employer’s confidence,” thought Mrs. Estabrook, resentfully, “but it may not be always so.”

A few minutes later, when the housekeeper was in her own sitting-room, she was told that Willis Ford wanted to see her.

Mrs. Estabrook’s thin face lighted up with pleasure, for she was devotedly attached to her stepson.

“Bring him up here at once,” she said.

A minute later the young man entered the room.  He was a thin, sallow-complexioned young man, with restless, black eyes, and a discontented expression—­as of one who thinks he is not well used by the world.

“Welcome, my dear boy,” said the housekeeper, warmly.  “I am so glad to see you.”

Willis submitted reluctantly to his stepmother’s caress, and threw himself into a rocking chair opposite her.

“Are you well, Willis?” asked Mrs. Estabrook, anxiously.

“Yes, I’m well enough,” muttered the young man.

“I thought you looked out of sorts.”

“I feel so.”

“Is anything the matter?”

“Yes; I’m sick of working at such starvation wages.”

“I thought fifteen dollars a week a very good salary.  Only last January you were raised three dollars.”

“And I expected to be raised three dollars more on the first of July.”

“Did you apply to Mr. Reynolds?”

“Yes, and he told me I must wait till next January.”

“I think he might have raised you, if only on account of the connection between our families.”

“Perhaps he would if you would ask him, mother.”

“I will when there is a good opportunity.  Still, Willis, I think fifteen dollars a week very comfortable.”