Clarke, astonished, surveyed the thin young man who waited at the foot of the stairs and remarked nonchalantly, “I do not know him.” Earle, with a shrug of the shoulders, went upstairs. “You may have the opportunity later,” he dryly remarked; “at present, try and fix your attention on me.” They proceeded to the inventor’s workroom, where they found a light already burning. “Sit down!” commanded Earle, with something of the authority which his years, if not his prospective attitude toward the young man warranted. But he did not sit himself, nor did the friend who had followed him upstairs and who now hovered about somewhere in the background. “It will take Emmons just ten minutes to perfect the ‘mate’ he has threatened,” observed Earle as they faced each other. “Can you finish your talk in as short a time? For I must be down there before they start a fresh game.” “Five minutes should suffice me,” returned Clarke, “but you may need a longer time for argument. Shall I state just what our situation is as regards this money you want from Polly?” “If you will be so good!” “With that man listening in the doorway?” “With that man listening in the doorway.” “Polly has no money to spare, Mr. Earle. Of the twenty thousand left her you have already had ten——” “For my just debts, Mr. Unwin.” “For your just debts, granted, Mr. Earle, but those debts were not incurred for her benefit, nor have you ever deigned to particularize to her just what they were.” “I would not burden her young mind.” “No, it has been enough for you to burden her purse.” “I should have burdened her conscience had I neglected to ask for her assistance.” “And will you now, by declining to take away her last hope, allow her the means of retrieving the fortune of which you have so nearly robbed her?” “Her hopes? Her means? I think you are speaking for yourself, sir.” “In speaking for myself, I speak for her; our interests are identical.” “You flatter yourself; Miss Earle is not yet your wife.” “Would you come between us?” “God forbid! I am willing that Polly, as you call her, should marry whom she will—when I am dead.” “Or when you have robbed her of every cent she owns.” “Oh, what language! I marvel you have not more delicacy of expression, Mr. Unwin. Your father was noted for his refinement.” “He had not to deal with—” the word was almost out, but Clarke restrained himself—“with a man who could forsake his motherless child in her tender years, only to expect unbounded sacrifices from her when she has attained maturity.” “I expect no more than she will be glad to grant. Maida has pride—so have you. You would neither of you like to see her father in jail.” Clarke bounded to his feet. “We do not imprison men here for debt,” he cried. “No, but you do for theft.” The word, so much worse than any he was prepared for, turned Clarke pale. He looked to right and left and shrank as he caught the eye of the slim watcher in the hall beyond.