“You’re not the sort of which fortune-hunters are made. I could see that at a glance, or I should not have been so open with you,” was the generous reply. He sank his voice very low when he continued: “Well, I must let you into a little secret which I think nobody suspects. I am not in the true sense of the term a rich man. I make plenty of money and I believe I shall continue to do, if my luck holds, as long as I live. But I am an incurable spendthrift; I fritter as fast as I make. Of course, you are a totally different temperament from me. At such an admission you will shrug your shoulders and think I am an insensate fool.” Lydon preserved an embarrassed silence. Had he expressed in words what he really felt, they would have been far from palatable to the hearer. After a short pause, Stormont spoke in a tone of considerable emotion, as if he were voicing his real remorse. “You cannot blame me any more than I blame myself. But this love of spending for spending’s sake, when it once gets hold of a man, is as deadly as any other form of vice, as drink or gambling. Dozens of times I have tried to check myself, to act prudently, but to no purpose.” Again there was a pause, and again Lydon could find nothing to say, since if he had spoken he would have been compelled to condemn, in no measured terms, the man’s contemptible and selfish weakness. And Stormont went on in that half-apologetic, wholly shamed voice. “So when I do die, I shall have lived my life to the full, but I shall leave next to nothing behind. Mrs. Barnard is provided for; she will always be able to live in comfort, and luxury makes little appeal to her. It is on Gloria’s account that I feel remorse, the selfishness of my conduct.” And then at last the young man found something to say: “There is one thing I should like to tell you, Mr. Stormont, without attempting to criticize you in any way, a thing I have no right to do. So far as Gloria is concerned, I am glad she is not likely to be an heiress. I love her for herself. I want no dowry with her.” “It is just what I should have expected from you,” replied the rubicund financier with a rather melancholy smile. “Well, things may not turn out so badly for Gloria after all. My brother, her father, is the exact opposite of myself, a prudent, evenly-balanced man who counts the cost of everything, looks long before he leaps, and I should say out of every pound he earns, saves ten shillings. He has a splendid position, and only another child, a son. He is one of the justest men I know, and whatever he leaves--I’ll wager it will be no mean sum--will be divided equitably between his family. So my dear Gloria may be an heiress in a small way, in the end. Now I have kept you talking too long, you have got your train to catch. Good-bye for the present. We shall expect you next week.”