met hundreds who bitterly regretted that they had missed making a
fortune; but he had never met any one who had lost a fortune. This
made him think the City an even more wonderful place than before.

But before he could be happy there remained one thing for him to do;
he must find somebody to share his happiness. He called on his old
friend, Mary Brown, one Sunday.

"Mary," he said, with the brisk confidence of the City man, "I find
I'm disengaged next Tuesday. Will you meet me at St George's Church
at two? I should like to show you the curate and the vestry, and one
or two things like that."

"Why, what's happened?"

"I am a millionaire," said Roger calmly. "So long as I only had my
beggarly pittance, I could not ask you to marry me. There was
nothing for it but to wait in patience. It has been a long weary
wait, dear, but the sun has broken through the clouds at last. I am
now in a position to support a wife. Tuesday at two," he went on,
consulting his pocket diary; "or I could give you half an hour on
Monday morning."

"But why this extraordinary hurry? Why mayn't I be married properly,
with presents and things?"

"My dear," said Roger reproachfully, "you forget. I am a City man
now, and it is imperative that I should be married at once. Only a
married man, with everything in his wife's name, can face with
confidence the give and take of the bustling City."