"You evidently don't trust me, Billy Woods. Very well! I don't care! Read it carefully--very carefully, and make quite sure I haven't been dabbling in forgery of late--besides, it's so good for your eyes, you know, after being hit over the head," Margaret suggested, cheerfully. Billy chuckled. "That's true," said he, "but I know Uncle Fred's fist well enough without having to read it all. Candidly, Peggy, I _had_ to look at it, because I--well, I didn't quite trust you, Peggy. And now we're going to burn this interesting paper, you and I." "Wait!" Margaret cried. "Ah, wait, just a moment, Billy!" He glanced up at her in surprise, the paper still poised in his hand. She sat with head drooped forward, her masculine little chin thrust out eagerly, her candid eyes transparently appraising him. "Why are you going to burn it, Billy?" "Why?" Mr. Woods, repeated, thoughtfully. "Well, for a variety of reasons. First is, that Uncle Fred really did leave his money to you, and burning this is the only way of making sure you get it. Why, I thought you wanted me to burn it! Last time I saw you--" "I was in a temper," said Margaret, haughtily. "You ought to have seen that." "Yes, I--er--noticed it," Mr. Woods admitted, with some dryness; "but it wasn't only temper. You've grown accustomed to the money. You'd miss it now--miss the pleasure it gives you, miss the power it gives you. You'd never be content to go back to the old life now. Why, Peggy, you yourself told me you thought money the greatest thing in the world! It has changed you, Peggy, this--ah, well!" said Billy, "we won't talk about that. I'm going to burn it because that's the only honourable thing to do. Ready, Peggy?" "It may be honourable, but it's _extremely_ silly," Margaret temporised, "and for my part, I'm very, very glad God had run out of a sense of honour when He created the woman." "Phrases don't alter matters. Ready, Peggy?" "Ah, no, phrases don't alter matters!" she assented, with a quick lift of speech. "You're going to destroy that will, Billy Woods, simply because you think I'm a horrid, mercenary, selfish _pig_. You think I couldn't give up the money--you think I couldn't be happy without it. Well, you have every right to think so, after the way I've behaved. But why not tell me that is the real reason?" Billy raised his hand in protest. "I--I think you might miss it," he conceded. "Yes, I think you would miss it." "Listen!" said Margaret, quickly. "The money is yours now--by my act. You say you--care for me. If I am the sort of woman you think me--I don't say I am, and I don't say I'm not--but thinking me that sort of woman, don't you think I'd--I'd marry you for the asking if you kept the money? Don't you think you're losing every chance of me by burning that will? Oh, I'm not standing on conventionalities now! Don't you think that, Billy?"