"By the way," Mr. Desborough began, "you said just now you were short of pocket-money." He took from his pocket a book, and produced therefrom a crisp piece of paper, which he handed to Hazel. He was experiencing a new and strange sense of remorse, in that he had caused this bright girl, if but for a moment, a disquieting thought, and he took himself to task for a meddlesome old fool, interfering in matters that were better left alone. He was anxious to conciliate his great-niece, but a trifle doubtful as to how his overtures might be met. He, Percival Desborough, was growing distrustful of himself, and oddly solicitous for the good opinion of a slip of a girl, of whose very existence, a couple of hours earlier, he was scarcely aware. Hazel took the bit of paper. "What is it?" she asked, unfolding it distrustfully. "A banknote," her uncle returned. "Put it in your purse, and let me know when it is gone." Hazel flushed, refolded the note and handed it back. "You must not think me ungenerous," she said gently, "or imagine that I am brooding over anything that you have said; especially as you retracted the most—the most unpleasant of your ideas about us; but you must own I could not accept this." "Tut-tut," her uncle retorted, surprised and somewhat disconcerted, "stuff and nonsense! As if a young girl like you could not take a tip from an old fellow like me! and her uncle to boot." "I am sorry," Hazel replied determinedly, "but I really could not"; and she again tendered him the note. "Afraid of losing your dignity, are you?" he said. "Well, I have my pride too, and I refuse to take it back." Hazel pondered the situation. She was not unsympathetic with her uncle, in the rather trying predicament in which he had placed himself, and could enter into his feelings very nearly. But, strive as she might, she could not put away his unkind, nay, his cruel, words, at the beginning of their interview, spoken in pain as they were, and, mayhap, in all thoughtlessness. But they were too fresh in her memory. "I see your difficulty," she said at length. "What shall I do?" "Do what you will," her uncle returned testily. He was not to be worsted in the struggle. There was a long pause, and the two combatants eyed the small, innocent-looking cause of contention, that now lay upon a little table beside them. At length Hazel took it up, and was about to tear it to shreds and transfer it to the waste-paper basket, deeming such a course the best way to right the embarrassment, when suddenly light flooded her mind. "I may do anything I like with it?" she demanded, her spirit rising, her eyes flashing. "Anything, and in your name, seeing that the money is not mine?" "I don’t care what you do with it," her uncle returned with asperity.