'Well, has he been making up to anybody that you know of?' John's invisible eyebrows stretched considerably. He was so astonished that he did not readily find an answer. 'Why, of course, I mean,' said Louie, impatiently, 'is he _in love_ with anybody?' 'Not that I know of, Miss.' 'Well, then, there's somebody in love with _him_,' said Louie, maliciously; 'and some day, Mr. Dalby, if we get a chance, perhaps I'll tell you all about it.' The charming confidential smile she threw him so bewildered the lad that he hardly knew where he was. But an exasperated shout of 'John' from the stairs recalled him, and he rushed downstairs to help David deal with a cargo of books just arrived. That evening David ran up to the Parlour for half an hour, to have a talk with Daddy and find out what Dora thought of Louie. He had sent a message by Louie about Reuben's revelations, and it occurred to him that since Daddy had not been to look him up since, that incalculable person might be offended that he had not brought his great news in person. Besides, he had a very strong curiosity to know what had happened after all to Lucy Purcell, and whether anything had been commonly observed of Purcell's demeanour under the checkmate administered to him. For the past few days he had been wholly absorbed in his own affairs, and during the previous week he had seen nothing of either Daddy or Dora, except that at a casual meeting in the street with Daddy that worthy had described his attack on Purcell with a gusto worthy of his Irish extraction. He found the restaurant just shutting, and Daddy apparently on the wing for the 'White Horse' parlour, to judge from the relief which showed in Dora's worn look as she saw her father lay down his hat and stick again and fall 'chaffing' with David. For, with regard to David's change of position, the landlord of the Parlour was in a very testy frame of mind. 'Six hundred pounds!' he growled, when the young fellow sitting cross-legged by the fire had made an end of describing to them both his journey to London. 'H'm, _your_ fun's over: any fool can do on six hundred pounds!' 'Thank you, Daddy,' said the lad, with a sarcastic lip. 'As for you, I wonder _you_ have the face to talk! Who's coining money here, I should like to know?' Dora looked up with a start. Her father met her look with a certain hostility and an obstinate shake of his thin shoulders. 'Davy, me boy, you're that consated by now, you'll not be for taking advice. But I'll give it you, bedad, to take or to leave! Never pitch your tent, sir, where you can't strike it when you want to! But there's where your beastly money comes in. Nobody need look to you now for any comprehension of the finer sentiments of man.' 'What do you mean, Daddy?' 'Never you mind,' said the old vagrant, staring sombrely at the floor--the spleen in person. 'Only I want my _freedom_, I tell you--and a bit of air, sometimes--and by gad I'll have 'em!'