'Then, father, I suppose you mean that whatever services I have rendered you, whatever comfort I have given you, what I have been to you all my life, is not worth thirty thousand pounds?' 'You shouldn't talk like that, my daughter. Everything I have is yours, or will be, when I die. It is for you I work; it is for you I accumulate money. You will have everything I own the moment I have to lay down my work.' 'Father!' cried the girl, standing up before him, 'I do not want your money when you die. I do not want you to die, as you know; but I do want thirty thousand pounds to-day, and now. I want it more than I ever wanted anything else before in my life, or ever shall again. Will you give it to me?' 'No, I will not, unless you tell me what you are going to do with it.' 'Then, father, you can leave your money to your nephew when you die; I shall never touch a penny of it. I now bid you good-bye. I will go out from this room and earn my own living.' With that the young woman turned to go, but her father, with a sprightliness one would not have expected from his years, sprang to the door and looked at her with alarm. 'Edith, my child, you never talked to me like this before in your life. What is wrong with you?' 'Nothing, father, except that I want a cheque for thirty thousand pounds, and want it now.' 'And do you mean to say that you will leave me if I do not give it to you?' 'Have you ever broken your word, father?' 'Never, my child, that I know of.' 'Then remember I am your daughter. I have said, if I do not get that money now, I shall never enter our house again.' 'But thirty thousand pounds is a tremendous amount. Remember, I have given _my_ word, too, that I would not give you the money unless you told me what it was for.' 'Very well, father, I will tell what it is for when you ask me. I would advise you, though, not to ask me; and I would advise you to give me the money. It will all be returned to you if you want it. 'Oh, I don't care about the money at all, Edith. I merely, of course, don't want to see it wasted.' 'And, father, have you no trust in my judgment?' 'Well, you know I haven't much faith in any woman's wisdom, in the matter of investing money.' 'Trust me this time, father. I shall never ask you for any more.' The old man went slowly to his desk, wrote out a cheque, and handed it to his daughter. It was for thirty thousand pounds. CHAPTER XXXV. Edith Longworth, with that precious bit of paper in her pocket, once more got into her hansom and drove to Wentworth's office. Again she took the only easy-chair in the room. Her face was very serious, and Wentworth, the moment he saw it, said to himself. 'She has failed.' 'Have you telegraphed to Mr. Kenyon?' she asked. 'Yes.' 'Are you sure you made it clear to him what was wanted? Cablegrams are apt to be rather brief.' 'I told him to keep in communication with us. Here is a copy of the cablegram.' Miss Longworth read it approvingly, but said: