"Afraid of what you yourself would feel when you found yourself missing the things you've been used to so long." "What do I care for those things? It's just a sort of snobbery in you. Oh, I'd have married you when I thought your name was Daddleskink!" she cried, with flaming face. "And now because we're different from what you thought, you--you--" "You're not making it very easy for me, dear," he said piteously. There came into her face, like an inspiration, a radiance of the tenderest fun. She put her hands one on each of his shoulders, and with a little soft catch in her voice, sang:-- "Lady once loved a pig. 'Honey,' said she, 'Pig, will you marry me?'-- "_You_ grunt!" she bade him. He strove to turn his face away. "Grunt," she besought. "Grunt, Pig; Perfect Pig! Grunt now or forever hold your peace." Then the clinging hands slipped forward, the soft arms closed about his neck, and she was sobbing with her cheek pressed close to his cheek. "I won't _let_ you go. I won't! Never, never, never!" "But I don't know what I'm to say to your father, darling," he said, as the grinding of the tender against the wharf brought them back to realities. "Leave him to me," she bade him. "I'm going to send for him and Judge Enderby now." The two appeared promptly. "Dad," she said, "you remember what you said about the house on Battery Place?" "I think I do." "That you'd get it for me if you had to buy off the option for a million?" "Correct." "And you're still Wayne of his Word?" "Try me." "Give your check to Mr. Smith. Our price is just a million. Then," she added with an entrancing blush, "you can give us the house as a wedding present." "So that's the bargain, is it?" queried the financier. "No. It isn't the bargain at all," replied the Tyro, with quiet firmness. "The option isn't for sale." "Not at a million?" "Certainly not at a million. It isn't worth anything like that." "A thing's worth what you can get for it." "For value received. Not for charity, with however glossy a sugar-coating. If Miss Wayne--Cecily--" "Little Miss Grouch," corrected the girl with the smile of a particularly pleased angel. "If Little Miss Grouch marries me, she will have to marry me on what I'm honestly worth." "I'm content," said Little Miss Grouch. "So am I," said Mr. Wayne heartily. "You've come through, my boy." He set a friendly hand on the Tyro's shoulder. "As for Remsen Van Dam," he added, scratching his head ruefully, "I might have known that Cecily's pick would be better than mine. Look here, children," he added briskly, "let's get this thing over and done with away from the American papers. Enderby, how do Americans get married in England?" "Give me five dol--I mean five hundred dollars," responded the Judge promptly. "What for?" "Advice." [Illustration: "YOU'VE COME THROUGH, MY BOY"] "Done," said Mr. Wayne.