“Oh, yes,” the girl threw at him like a random arrow. “Eric tells ’em that everybody can give up something and get bonds. Now, Cousin Alured sends you a thousand for your vacation in Newport. You could give that to your country for once. Why not?” Mannering’s weak mouth set. His manner of high-bred indifference flushed to what was as near excitement as one often saw him in. “Not by a long shot. Sacrifice my one luxury of the year! You’re a saucy young devil, Honor. My word! What are you giving up, who are so free with suggestions? The bank-account that’s to turn you into a prima donna? Come--we’ll bargain. I’ll buy Liberty Bonds with my check from Alured Mannering, which is due next week, if you’ll draw that fifteen hundred of yours and use it for the same purpose.” Mannering, startled for once to indignation by the daring hand on his most precious self-indulgence, yet believed himself quite safe. But he had reckoned without the host of past-and-gone influences which made up a part of that complicated mixture, his daughter. He had forgotten the revolutionary soldier and the Indian fighting-woman, and those others who lived in her. The tall girl, standing before the heavy, handsome man lolling in his deep chair, smoking lazily, smiling at her triumphantly through half-closed eyelids, stared at her father. The color as she stared went out of her face and left it pale. Then she spoke one word in a queer, wooden voice. “Done,” said Honor Mannering, and put out her hand. The cigar dropped from Mannering’s fingers. “Nonsense!” he said, and did not stoop to pick it up. “Why, it’s a joke, Honor. Don’t be melodramatic.” “It’s not a joke. You said ‘we’ll bargain.’ You stated your bargain and I agreed. I mean it. If you’re a man you’ll keep your word. It’s a debt of honor.” The hand was still held out. Mannering, his armor of indifference stripped, gazed at her horrified, and knew that he must indeed keep his word. For there were a few things sound yet in Eric Mannering’s flabby code, and the girl’s finger was on one. He stood up, and the gods and his ancestors gave him grace to put out his own hand. “You have me, Miss Mannering,” and he smiled again lazily. “Done.” He gripped the girl’s hand savagely, and turned and walked into the house. “Honor, what kind of an apple-cart have you upset now?” her brother demanded, stepping to her with his uneven gait. She smiled at him, white still. “Did you see? Wasn’t he gorgeous? It was hard as death--but he wouldn’t--betray--the Mannering word. Oh, Eric, it _is_ good to feel proud of him,” and she finished under her breath--“for once.” “It _is_,” Eric agreed soberly. “It will make over his life to help the country, like the others--grandfather and such. I can’t see how you dared dream--” And then he caught her by the shoulder. “But, Honor--you’ve thrown away--your career.” He gripped her so that it hurt. She swayed a bit, standing facing him, looking into his eyes almost on a level.