“No,” went on Barney, unchilled, “Longview’s not so rich. I could buy him twice over, and not take a cent of it out of my business. But I want to see any scamp, foreign or domestic, hanging round my daughter for her money. She’ll get nary a red till I shuffle off. And she’ll get mighty little then if she don’t marry to suit me. That’s _our_ way.” Frothingham changed his mind about dropping Barney. He had begun to modify the low view of him as soon as he heard that he had a daughter, and “could buy Longview twice over,” and leave the big business--“seventy stores under one roof”--intact. “Miss Barney may be worth looking at,” he reflected. “And her papa might relent about settlements. I suspect he isn’t above loving a lord--he’s too good an American for that.” What Barney had told gave him the key to Honoria. He felt genuine sympathy for her--their sorrows were similar. “Poor creature,” he thought. “No wonder she’s so down in the mouth.” After luncheon he met her father on deck, and did not repel his advances. “But,” he said to himself, “it don’t do to be too friendly with these beggars. It’s like shaking hands with your tailor. He don’t think you’ve pulled him up, but that you’ve let yourself down.” To the “beggar” he said: “I looked all round the dining room, but I didn’t see you and your daughter.” Longview smiled proudly. “We have our meals in our sitting room,” he replied. “We dislike being stared at, and mixed in with a crowd of eating people. We like privacy. We’d be glad to have you join us.” Frothingham’s first impulse was to accept. It would cost him nothing--probably he’d get his wine and mineral water and cigars free. And he’d have a rare chance at Honoria. But her face came before his mind. He decided that he would do well to wait until he could learn whether she was really part of the inviting “we.” Although he was not welcomed, but merely tolerated, he seated himself on the extension of a vacant chair beside her and talked--hunting, which, as she had shown him, was her weakness. She was soon interested, and she unbent toward him so far that, when her father came and renewed his invitation, she joined in it. Just as Frothingham accepted he saw Barney half a dozen chairs away glowering at Longview. “I’ll offend Barney, no doubt,” he said to himself. “But I’ll risk it. I must play the cards I have in my hand.” Barney came into the smoke-room late in the evening as he was sitting there, having a final whiskey and water before going to bed. “Won’t you have a high ball or something?” he asked, making room for Barney’s broad form. “No, I never touch liquor. Don’t allow it in my house. It’s no good--no business man ought to touch it.” “I suppose not,” replied Frothingham, feeling that here was new evidence of the essentially degrading nature of business. “I missed you at dinner,” Barney went on.