“You don’t want to get rid of your own flesh and blood, surely! There’s no hurry. Wait until after the wedding. It’s in August--just six weeks.” He got up, bent over the high chair in his clumsy, hearty fashion, and kissed her mouth. That kiss decided her, made her inflexible. She gulped down a little scornful laugh in her throat: a man who kissed in that way deserved to be jilted. “Go back to the chest,” she cried petulantly. “This isn’t the proper time for nonsense; we are talking business. You will give him the money at once, won’t you?” “I must think it over. Two hundred pounds!” “It is nothing to you--everything to us.” “To him.” “To him--that is what I meant. Open the bureau; get your check-book. It will only take a moment.” “There is no hurry. I never rush things. I’ll talk the affair over with Edred to-morrow--no, on Wednesday, before I drive in to market. To-morrow I must see old Crisp, of the Flagon House, about that rye of his.” He pulled a wan, white jasmine bloom to pieces slowly, put his head half out of the window into the damp, scented air, and said casually that a couple of bats had flown out of the ivy. Her palms tingled with rage and despair. This matter of two hundred pounds was nothing to him. The clock in the dining-parlor struck nine very softly; on the hedge across the road a nightingale was performing a sad recitative. She jumped to her feet in a passion. “If you don’t promise to give him the two hundred pounds to-morrow morning, I’ll go away--I won’t marry you,” she cried. Jethro only laughed. He felt so secure. The wedding was to be in six weeks; workmen were coming out from Liddleshorn to-morrow to fit up the bathroom and paint the place. Nearly every day a young woman came with things from the draper’s at Liddleshorn. It was all settled. But she looked pretty in a passion. He rose heavily from the chest again. “If you touch me I shall strike you.” “What’s the matter, dear? You’ve been cycling too much. I told Edred that thirty-five miles would be more than you could manage, and it’s nearly forty to Beer Hill and back.” “It wasn’t a bit too long a ride. The others did it; even Nancy, who is supposed to be so delicate. I cannot endure to think you so mean, so lethargic--over a little thing. You must give him the money to-morrow, or I swear----” “Pam.” “Don’t call me that. Will you----” “He shall have a check to-morrow morning, as you wish it so much.” He opened the bureau. “I’ve got it in notes somewhere. I meant to bank on Wednesday. Two hundred pounds!” Hereditary closeness got the better of him again. “It is a good lump. But what is mine is yours--or will be in six weeks. If it makes you happy.” “It makes him secure. What are you doing?” Jethro was pressing his broad thumbs carefully into the sides of a pigeonhole. “There is a secret drawer here. I wouldn’t show it to everyone--but you are flesh of my flesh.” “Not yet.” “In six weeks.” “Show me the secret drawer.”