"And you—don’t you love old furniture, old china?" He made a passionate gesture, including within a sweep of his arm all the treasures about him. He continued: "Answer me! Don’t you love things worth their weight in gold?" "They interest me, of course. I don’t love them." "Never entered your overcrowded mind, did it, that when closing-time came for me these things would belong to my only child—hey?" "It may have entered my mind, sir, but I didn’t fall in love with Posy because she was your daughter." "Ho! Tell me, how do you propose to support this young lady after I’ve given you the sack?" "For that matter, Mr. Tomlin wants me. You pay me four pounds a week. I’m worth ten to any big dealer." "’Ark to Mister Pride-before-the-Fall!" Rage now possessed him. He had promised himself that he would keep his temper, and deal drastically but calmly with a clever knave and a pretty noodle. But Susan’s attitude had blown to the wind such excellent resolutions. Perhaps the dominant idea in his mind was to get Susan alone, to vindicate himself in her eyes. He believed honestly that this abominable affair had distracted her poor wits. Obviously, the first step towards an understanding with Susan was the settlement of this preposterous James Miggott. He nerved himself for a knock-out blow. In James’s eyes, set a thought too close together, he fancied that he read derision and defiance. He heard James’s quiet voice: "I am quite able to support a wife." "Are you? Does that mean, my lad, that you’re ready to marry her against my wish, without my consent?" "I counted on your consent, sir." "You answer my question. You’re in love with Posy for herself—hey? You’d take her as she stands?" James answered firmly but respectfully: "Yes." Poor Quinney! He had expected hesitation, a craven retreat from a false position, glib expostulation—any reply except this stark "Yes." The blow stunned him. He heard Posy’s joyful voice: "Oh, Jim, you are a darling! I was never quite—quite sure till this blessed minute!" The little man boiled over. He was almost ripe for personal violence. Fortunately, the sense that a man must not fight with his fists in the presence of ladies made him thrust his hands into his pockets. The other convention concerning the use of strong language was honoured in the breach! "Damn you!" he spluttered. "If you want her, take her—now." *CHAPTER XX* *BLACKMAIL* *I* The bolt fell from the blue with shattering effect upon Posy and James. Susan, however, with that instinct which makes a woman grab at her petticoats when she is tumbling over a precipice, exclaimed shrilly: "Joe! He can’t take her without her stockings!" "That’s his affair," said Quinney.