'Look here, Daddy! I've got something to say to you, but not down here: you'll be letting out my private affairs, and I can't stand that.' 'Well, come upstairs then, you varmint! You're a poor sort of fellow, always suspecting your friends. Come up--come up with you! I'll humour you!' And Daddy, bursting with curiosity, led the way upstairs to Dora's sitting-room. Dora was moving about amid a mass of silks, which lay carefully spread out on the table, shade melting into shade, awaiting their transference to a new silk case she had been busy upon. As the door opened she look up, and when she saw David her face flushed all over. Daddy pushed the lad in. 'Dora, he's got some news. Out with it, sir!' And he stood opposite the young fellow, on tiptoe, quivering with impatience. David put both hands in his pockets, and looked out upon them, radiant. 'I think,' he said slowly, 'I've scotched old Purcell this time. But perhaps you don't know what he's been after?' 'Lucy was in here last night,' said Dora, hesitating; 'she told me about it.' 'Lucy!' cried Daddy, exasperated. 'What have you been making secrets about? I'll have no secrets from me in this house, Dora. Why, when Lucy tells you something important, is it all hidden up from me? Nasty close ways!' And he looked at her threateningly. Nothing piqued the old Bohemian so much as the constant assumption of the people about him that he was a grown-up baby, of no discretion at all. That the assumption was true made no difference whatever to the irritating quality of it. Dora dropped her head a little, but said nothing. David interposed: 'Well, now _I'll_ tell you all about it.' His tone was triumph itself, and he plunged into his story. He described what Purcell had meant to do, and how nearly he had done it. In a month, if the bookseller had had his way, his young rival would have been in the street, with all his connection to make over again. At the moment there was not another corner to be had, within David's means, anywhere near the centre of the town. It would have meant a completely fresh beginning, and temporary ruin. But he had gone to Ancrum. And Ancrum and he had bethought them of the rich Unitarian gentleman who had been David's sponsor when he signed his agreement. There and then, at nine o'clock at night, Ancrum had gone off to Higher Broughton, where the good man lived, and laid the case before him. Mr. Doyle had taken the night to think it over, and the following morning he had paid a visit to his lawyer.