"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will suit me better than two hundred a year." "Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon is it likely to be?" "Oh, that I can't tell you. As soon as she fixes the day." "I swear by all that I hold sacred," said Francis, with sudden energy, "that I won't wait more than six months, and then I'll take two thousand." "Six? Make it twelve. The girl may want a year's freedom." "I won't wait twelve. I swear I won't. I'm tired of this life. I can't get any work to do, though I've tried over and over again. And I'm always unlucky at play. There's Mary threatening to go out to work again. If we were in another country, with a clear start, she should not have to do that." Oliver meditated. It did not seem to him likely that Ethel would refuse to marry him in six months' time, but of course it was possible. Still he was pretty sure that he could get the money advanced as soon as his engagement was noised abroad. It was rather a pity that he would have to publish it so soon--especially when his projects respecting Lesley Brooke had not been carried out--but it could not be helped. The prospect of ridding himself of his brother Francis was most welcome to him. And--if he could quiet him by promises, it might perhaps not be necessary to pay him the money after all. "Well," he said, at last, "I promise it within six months, Francis. On the conditions I named, of course." "And you will keep your word?" said Francis, looking suspiciously into his brother's smooth, pale face. "If not," answered Oliver, airily, "you have the remedy in your own hands, you know. You can easily bring me to book. And now that this interesting conversation is ended, perhaps you will kindly allow me to go home? The night is fine, but I am a good deal chilled with standing----" "And what am I, then? I've been waiting for you, off and on, for hours. And I haven't got a shilling in my pocket, either. Haven't you got a pound or two to spare, Oliver? For the sake of old times, you know."