The pain in his voice was not without an effect on her disgust. She was mercenary, though she did not know it; she was not good-natured, though she had good impulses; she was ludicrously artificial. But she was a woman, and he was a young man. She did not think of her own courtship, for she had been sentimental only when her parents approved--she hadn't "married for money," but her heart had been providentially warmed towards the one young gentleman of her acquaintance who was "comfortably off." She thought, however, of Cynthia, who had displayed considerable feeling in the bedroom an hour ago. "I must write to her father," she said, in a worried voice. "I really can't promise you anything; I am very vexed at this sort of thing going on without my knowledge--_very_ vexed. I shall write to her father to-night. I must ask you to consider the whole matter entirely indefinite until he comes. Immense responsibility ... immense! I can't say any more, Mr. Kent." She left him on the veranda. His sensation was that she had shattered the world about him, and that a weighty portion of the ruin was lying on his chest. CHAPTER IV When Sam Walford ran over to Dieppe, in obedience to his wife's summons, he said: "Well, what's this damn nonsense, Louisa, eh? There's nothing in this, you know--this won't do." "Cynthia is very cut up; you had better tell her so! I'm sure I wish we had waited and gone to Brighton instead.... A lot of bother!" "An author," he said, with amusement; "what do you do with authors? You do 'find 'em,' my dear!" "I don't know what you mean," she returned tartly. "I can't help a young man taking a fancy to her, can I? If you're so clever, it's a pity you didn't stop here with her yourself. If you don't think it's good enough, you must say so and finish the matter, that's all. You're her father!" "I'll talk to her," he declared. "Where is she now? Let's go and see! And where's Mr.-- what d'ye call him? What's he like?" "Mr. Kent. He is a very nice fellow. If he had been in a different position, it would have been most satisfactory. There's no doubt he's very clever--highly talented--the newspapers are most complimentary to him. And--er--of course a novelist is socially--er--he has a certain----" "Damn it! he can't keep a family on compliments, can he? I suppose he's a bull of himself, eh? Thinks he ought to be snapped at?" "Nothing of the sort; you always jump to such extraordinary conclusions," she said. "He is a perfect gentleman and proposed for her beautifully. After all, there aren't many young men who've got so much as a thousand pounds in ready money." "But he isn't making anything, you tell me," objected Mr. Walford; "they'll eat up a thousand pounds before they know where they are.... He wouldn't expect anything with her, I suppose?" She shook her head violently. "No _earthly_ occasion. Oh _dear_ no!"