"I consider it an excellent stroke of business every way," Pendleton went on, puffing a little. "It secures his interest in the railway." "He has no interest in the railway." "Then why should he buy the lots?" "He's buying you." Pendleton gave the bills a flirt. "Well, I didn't sell myself too cheap," he said with maddening complacency. Pen fumed in silence. Pendleton began to count off some of the bills. "I want you to take some of this," he said. "What for?" said Pen. "To replenish your wardrobe." "Not a cent!" said Pen indignantly. Reflecting that she was betraying too much heat she added: "I have plenty of clothes for down here." "Your summer dresses that you make yourself are very pretty, very pretty," said Pendleton mollifyingly. "But I'm sure you must be in want of the expensive little appurtenances of a lady's wardrobe; shoes, silk stocking, hats, parasols." "What would I be doing with a parasol at Broome's Point?" demanded Pen with a snort of scorn. "A smart yachting suit would be nice," he said suggestively. But Pen looked at him so dangerously he made haste to add: "But of course you know best. You know best!" "Put the money up," said Pen brusquely. "But my dear...!" "I refuse to dress myself at Mr. Riever's expense. The idea is revolting." "You will have to have money in town to-day." "I have a little. Enough to buy a pair of white shoes, and materials to retrim my last summer's hat. That will have to do." "I don't see why you have to go against your obvious interests," he complained. Pen looked at him levelly. "Let's be frank with each other, Dad. If you have any notion of Mr. Riever and I making a match of it, I beg that you will put it out of your head. The idea is preposterous!" It made him writhe to have his secret wish dragged out into the crude light like this, nevertheless he was bound to fight for it still. "Why is it preposterous?" he demanded bridling. "He wouldn't be stooping to you?" "Perhaps I consider that I'd be stooping!" said Pen with her chin up. He ignored it. "It's only an accident that we are poor. Remember your grandfather had his place at Newport when his grandfather was still swinging a pick!" "That's only an accident, too," said Pen. "You miss the point. The question is not altogether whether he wants me, but whether I want him." Pendleton refused to take her seriously. "Oh, the fatal Broome pride!" he murmured. "He's a divorced man," said Pen wickedly. Her father held strong views on the subject. "We must not judge," said Pendleton blandly. "Circumstances alter cases. He may have been more sinned against than sinning." Pen smiled wryly. She did not particularly blame her father. It was at poor human nature that she was smiling. Encouraged by her silence he went on loftily: "Pride is an excellent thing in its way. But it becomes suicidal when you allow it to blind you to..."