“Try me. It would be such fun to live just as we could, and not have to make believe. I imagine the worst of poverty is in the thought that some one else knows. Tell me what father said.” “I have already told you, Barbara.” “But tell me how it came about. How he led up to it and what you said.” Philip thought for a moment. When he spoke his manner suggested weariness, as if the recent ordeal had been too much for him. “Really I am quite collapsed, quite annihilated. What a stunning advantage a young woman's father has over his daughter's 'young man.'.rdquo; “Won't you answer me?—what was it papa said?” “Well, we kept clear of sentiment from the start—we canvassed the situation from a purely business basis.” “But you know nothing about business.” “I talk intelligently enough on a good many subjects of which I know nothing.” “What else did he say?” “Oh, that I was a very proper young man, and all that sort of thing.” “And then what?” “After an exchange of compliments he gave me to understand that business was business. Then, Barbara, with startling brevity and great solemnity, tempered with severity, he informed me that this waiting was unjust to you, that it unduly compromised you, to all of which I agreed. He again alluded to my virtues; during their enumeration, my feelings were of the ghastly jolly order, for I thought that this formed the prelude to a blessing and dismissal—but it didn't. He wound up by asking me what my resources were. Of course I shuffled about and tried to daze him by a complicated explanation, filled with glittering generalities, though I own they did not glitter, for he held me to the subject in hand and I marshaled up my prospects for his inspection. I confess I was governed by no intention to be honest. I lied outright wherever I could and where I couldn't I maimed or strangled the facts. If I had only had warning—a little time for preparation, and the memorizing of imaginary statistics—I should have made a better showing. I simply could not stick to the truth; but it stuck to me in fragments. I felt as though I were pasted all over with it.” “But what did you say to papa?” “I told him what my income was—I had to name a sum so small I am sure he believed me at once. Lastly I told him of my expectations,—and there was where I lied. With the result that, providing I shall increase my earnings sufficiently to warrant such a course, I am to marry you within a year,—otherwise I don't.” And Philip dropped into a chair dejected in body and mind. “Now, what the dickens does he expect? I can't become famous on twelve months' notice. However, I must work morning, noon and night with no let-up whatever.” “And what's going to become of me then?” asked Barbara.