A few minutes later Pendleton entered the kitchen to find Pen leaning against the table in a brown study, the open letter in her hand. The kettle was boiling unheeded. "Who's your letter from?" he asked. "Oh ... that!" said Pen with a laugh. She was obliged to extemporize quickly. "Such an odd thing! Do you remember the little foundling that used to work for the Snellings on the Island? Something has led the child to write to me." "Let's see," he said, holding out his hand. "I can't, Dad. The poor little thing is telling me her troubles." "Humph!" snorted Pendleton, and passed on out of doors. Pen carried her supper into the dining-room. She sat, abstractedly stirring her cup, and munching a sandwich, while the same phrase ran around and around in her head. "Got to have five hundred, a thousand would be better!" Blanche might almost as well have asked her for a million, she thought sighing. Bye and bye Pendleton having finished his chores, came in again. "Sit down a minute, Dad," she said. "I want to talk to you." Anticipating something unpleasant, he dropped into a chair grumbling. "This business has about finished me up," said Pen. "I must get away for awhile." "You're looking particularly well to me," he said. She refused to be drawn off. "I don't know what to make of you," he went on crossly. "A while ago you were all for helping in the search." "I hoped to end it," said Pen. "But I was unsuccessful." Pendleton scowled sulkily at the table. "You know what I want you to do," he muttered. "That can wait," said Pen cautiously. "You may not get the chance, later." "I don't know that I have the chance now." "Oh, let's talk plainly!" Pendleton burst out, but still not meeting her eye. "This is no time for false delicacy. Anybody could see that Riever wants you. He's given me to understand in the broadest way that you have only to say the word. Even after the extraordinary way you have acted. You still have a chance. What makes you hold back? You've got to marry somebody. Men are all much the same. Marriage is no bed of roses at the best! ... Am I not your father? Would I be advising you to anything that wasn't for your good? It's a wonderful chance! a wonderful chance, I tell you! ... And you talk about going away!" The little man was almost ready to weep. Pen schooled herself to patience. "If Mr. Riever is really in earnest my going away will not make any difference ... It's said to be a very good move," she added slyly. "Not where a man like Riever is concerned!" cried Pendleton. "He's accustomed to be courted, to be deferred to. He'd never get over such an affront. He'd pull up anchor and sail away never to return!" Pen thought: "Ah, if he would!" "What was in that letter you got?" demanded Pendleton. "Has that got anything to do with it?"