"Want to keep the stuff, Boss?" asked the head packer.

"Yes," I exclaimed, seeing her distress, and resolving desperately to find themeans, somehow.

"It ain't none o' your look-out," interposed Mr. Winship. "Sis ain't a-goin' to be beholden to her husband, not till she's married. Ezry Winshipal'ays has done for his own, an' he proposes to do, jes' as fur's he'sable. Sis'll tell ye I hain't stwelveted her--What's to pay?"

I couldn't see all his savings go for gauds!

"You may take the goods," I said to the men, with sudden revulsion offeeling. "There's no chamber for them," I added gruffly to Mr. Winship, "inour--the chambers--where we are to live."

"All right, Boss," said the head packer; "which gent speaks for the lady?"

"Father!" Helen gasped.

"What's to pay?" insisted Mr. Winship.

"Take the goods," I repeated.

"All right, Boss;" and the two men went about their work, still glancingat us with sidelong looks of curiosity.

Helen gazed at me with eyes that stabbed. Then slowly her glance dulled.She dropped on a packing box and sat silent--a bowed figure of despair--forgetting apparently that she was not alone.

Mr. Winship made no further attempt to interfere with events. He stood byHelen's side, puzzled and taciturn.

I, too, was silent, reproaching myself for the brutality of my action,unable to decide what I should have done or ought to do. Helen herself hadsuggested that we give up the furniture, and I had not mourned thenecessity, for I hated the stuff, with its reminders of the General andthe Whitney woman and Bellmer and the Earl and all those strange peoplethat I used to look at around her. But I might have known that she could not,all at once, wean herself from the trumpery.