"Of course you must decide," he continued, quietly. "I quite see how the matter looks to you: I wonder if you are being equally fair to me. I come here: I meet your father. I find that he has been swindled by a man in London—a moral swindle only possible because of your father’s charming innocence. I wonder if you can realize what the atmosphere of this place means to me—an atmosphere which must depend, to a large extent, on the happiness and joy of you three." She was watching him now, and suddenly his swift smile flashed out. "Don’t you understand, Miss Crossley, that all money is relative? I’m going to allude purposely to my disgusting wealth. You wouldn’t think much of paying five shillings for pleasure, would you? Well, five thousand pounds means no more to me. And I’ve bought myself pleasure with that money such as I don’t think you can begin to conceive of." Again he smiled: then before she could reply he went on. "So I want you to remember, when you make your decision, what you are going to sacrifice on the altar of pride. My feelings don’t matter: but are you going to deliberately prick the bubble of your father’s happiness and change him in a moment from a delighted child into a broken and worried old man?" The girl bit her lip and stared over the rambling garden with troubled eyes. How could she let her father take the money: how could she? And then she heard his voice again from close behind her. "I’m going back to London," he said, deliberately, "and I would ask you to keep this as our secret. I hadn’t intended to go back yet: but now that you have found out—perhaps it’s better. I’ll leave you free to puzzle the thing out by yourself: only I want to make one condition." "What’s that?" whispered the girl. "I want to come back for my promised visit later." Gently he swung her round and his eyes—tender and quizzical—rested on the lovely face so close to his. "And when I come back, I’m going to ask you a question, which, if you can see your way to answering with a yes, will make me your father’s debtor for life. And then we could consider the five thousand as a payment on account, which would completely and finally settle the matter." Almost against her will, a faint smile began to twitch round the girl’s lips. "Of course I’m not much good at business, as I said, but I didn’t know that anybody ever paid on account until he had, at any rate, the promise of the goods." "In these days of competition," murmured Hewson, "one sometimes has to pay for the right of the first refusal." The smile was twitching again. "That right is yours without payment." "Then I’d better get it over quickly. Sheila—will you marry me?" "Mr. Hewson—I will not. Where are you going?" Charles Hewson turned half-way across the lawn. "Up to London. I want to find a man there, and give him the best dinner he’s ever had in his life." "What man?"