When they had both finished they looked up and met each other’s eyes. Then Mr. Tredgold threw himself back in his chair, kicking up his cloth-shod feet. “See,” he cried, with a gurgle of laughter in his throat, “that’s the style for me.” He was pleased to have his fine jest appreciated, and doubly amused by the intense and puzzled gravity of his companion’s face. “Don’t seem to have as many as you,” Sir Charles said. “Five short, by Jove.” “Shillin’s don’t matter,” said the old man; “but suppose every shillin’ was five thousand pounds, and where would you be then? eh? perhaps you would go on longer than I could. What do I know of your private affairs? But that’s what the man that gets Stella will have to do--table down his money, cent for cent, five thousand for five thousand, as I do. I know what my little girl costs a year. I won’t have her want for anything, if it’s ever so unreasonable; so, my fine young man, though you’ve got a handle to your name, unless you can show the colour of your money, my daughter is not for you.” Sir Charles Somers’s eyes had acquired a heavy stare of astonishment and consternation. What he said in his disappointment and horror he did not himself know--only one part of it fully reached the outer air, and that was the unfortunate words, “money of her own.” “Money of her own!” cried old Tredgold. “Oh, yes, she’s got money of her own--plenty of money of her own--but not to keep a husband upon. No, nor to keep herself either. Her husband’s got to keep her, when she gets one. If I count out to the last penny of my fortune he’s got to count with me. I’ll give her the equal. I’ll not stint a penny upon her; but give my money or her money, it’s all the same thing, to keep up another family, her husband and her children, and the whole race of them--no, Sir Charles Somers,” cried Mr. Tredgold, hastily shuffling his silver into his pocket, “that’s not good enough for me.” Saying which he jumped up in his cloth shoes and began to walk about the room, humming to himself loudly something which he supposed to be a tune. Sir Charles, for his part, sat for a long time gazing at his money on the table. He did not take it up as Tredgold had done. He only stared at it vacantly, going over it without knowing, line by line. Then he, too, rose slowly. “Can’t count with you,” he said. “Know I can’t. Chance this--put down what I put down--no more. Got to go to India in that case. Never mind, Stella and I----” “Don’t you speak any more of Stella. I won’t have it. Go to India, indeed--my little girl! I will see you--further first. I will see you at the bottom of the sea first! No. If you can count with me, something like, you can send your lawyer to me. If you can’t, do you think I’m a man to put pounds again’ your shillin’s? Not I! And I advise you just to give it up, Sir Charles Somers, and speak no more about Stella to me.”