“My dear little girl,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, “it really doesn’t matter to me whom you marry so long as you’re happy. Gilder is a very solid man; he has a considerable private fortune.” This time she swung round on her seat and faced him. “Arthur, why do you insist upon the fortune? Where is my money?” The question came point-blank and was not to be fenced with. He roused himself to meet a situation which had never before arisen. “Your money? Why, invested, of course!” He tried very hard, but he could not produce that convincing note which was so necessary. “Your fortune is in all sorts of shares and bonds. What a queer question to ask me, girlie!” “How much money have I?” she demanded ruthlessly. “About a quarter of a million--a little more or a little less. For goodness’ sake don’t talk about money, my dear.” “But I _will_ talk about it,” she said. “Arthur, have I any at all?” His laughter did not carry conviction. And usually people accepted his word. Harry Chelford had asked him only a week before in what stocks was his late mother’s fortune invested. And Arthur had replied glibly enough. It was the Miriam Chelford Trust that had occupied his mind through the journey. Something must be done there. Dick Alford had started to ask questions, and Dick had a memory like a recording machine. As for Leslie and her tiresome questions: “What a silly kid you are! Of course you’ve got money! I wish to heaven I had half your wad! You’re a very rich little girl, and you ought to be a very happy little girl.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I have a penny,” she said, and his heart sank. With a tremendous effort of will he met her questioning eyes. “Why do you say that?” She shook her head. “I don’t know--in a way I hope I’m poor. I know I had money left me, because you showed me the will a long time ago. But you’ve been handling it, Arthur, and I’ve an idea that things haven’t been going too well with you.” “Do you mean I’ve stolen your fortune?” he asked loudly, and she smiled. “I wouldn’t accuse you of that. I think it is possible you may have invested my fortune--unwisely! And it is quite possible that that quarter of a million has dwindled and dwindled until it has disappeared. Is that so?” He did not answer. “Is that so?” “I wish to God you wouldn’t ask such stupid questions,” he said irritably. “Of course it isn’t so!” For one wild moment he had the impulse to tell her the truth; but vanity, a shrinking from the possible effects the news would have upon the one person in the world for whom he had a grain of affection, inhibited the confession.