He paused briefly while his small, sharp eyes traveled over her person with an estimating glance, a glance which heated her resentment. It was an unpleasant glance for a young woman to undergo. “Ahem!... Present your case. Inventory, so to speak. You own a bankrupt country paper. Never paid--never will. Alone in the world. No relatives. Nobody to help you. No money. Hard future to face.... Debit side of the ledger. Um!... Credit side shows youth--er--intelligence, education. All valuable assets. Shows also beauty and--er--the ability to look like a lady.... Breeding. Difficult to find. Desirable.” He paused again until he appraised her with greedy eyes. Suddenly she felt apprehensive. A sense of outrage swept over her, but for once words failed in the emergency. She felt her limbs tremble. The man’s eyes were an outrage; his manner was an affront. She was angry as she had never been angry before; terrified with a new sort of crawling, skin-chilling terror. She was aware of being afraid he might touch her; that his fat, pudgy, well-kept fingers might reach out and rest upon her hand or her cheek or her hair. If they should, she knew she would scream. His touch would be intolerable. She had a feeling it would leave a damp, ineradicable mark. She drew back in her chair, crouching, quivering. “Those assets,” he said, “entitle you to a future. Should realize on them.... Ahem!...” Again he paused and touched his cravat fussily. He glanced down at his little shoes, immaculate, on his tailored legs and impressive abdomen. “Beauty,” he said, “requires ease and care.... Um!... Fades with hard work and economy.” He crossed his hands on his stomach and smiled fatuously. “I,” he said, “have been a widower fifteen years. A long time.... Not from necessity. No, indeed. But my home, the sort of home I maintain--in keeping with my position--er--requires an adequate mistress.... One possessing qualities. Yes, indeed. Qualities suitable to the wife of Abner Fownes.” He drew himself up to the utmost of his scanty height, making, as well, the most of his breadth. He resembled, Carmel thought, a dropsical pouter pigeon. “The mistress of my home--er--mansion,” he amended, “would occupy enviable position. Extremely. Looked up to. Envied. Arbiter of local society. Ease, comfort--luxury. Everything money can buy.... Travel. Yes, indeed.... Clothes suitable to her station and mine.... Women are fond of clothes. Jewels. Amply able to provide my wife with jewels.” Carmel was breathless. Her heart beat in a manner to cause her alarm lest it outdo itself. Her scalp prickled. She wondered if something physically unpleasant were going to happen--like fainting. “Enviable picture,” he said, expansively. “Sufficient to attract any woman. Be pointed out as Abner Fownes’s wife. Women take pride in their husbands. Husband of a personage.” At this he swelled to his utmost.