He recited the details and Ruth entered them in her ledger. This done, M. Gandinot, doffing his official self, sighed. 'It is a place of much sorrow, mademoiselle, this office. How he would not take no for an answer, that young man, recently departed. A fellow-countryman of yours, mademoiselle. You would say, "What does this young man, so well-dressed, in a _mont-de-piete_?" But I know better, I, Gandinot. You have an expression, you English--I heard it in Paris in a cafe, and inquired its meaning--when you say of a man that he swanks. How many young men have I seen here, admirably dressed--rich, you would say. No, no. The _mont-de-piete_ permits no secrets. To swank, mademoiselle, what is it? To deceive the world, yes. But not the _mont-de-piete_. Yesterday also, when you had departed, was he here, that young man. Yet here he is once more today. He spends his money quickly, alas! that poor young swanker.' When Ruth returned home that evening she found her father in the sitting-room, smoking a cigarette. He greeted her with effusion, but with some uneasiness--for the old gentleman had nerved himself to a delicate task. He had made up his mind tonight to speak seriously to Ruth on the subject of her unsatisfactory behaviour to Mr Vince. The more he saw of that young man the more positive was he that this was the human gold-mine for which he had been searching all these weary years. Accordingly, he threw away his cigarette, kissed Ruth on the forehead, and began to speak. It had long been Mr Warden's opinion that, if his daughter had a fault, it was a tendency towards a quite unnecessary and highly inconvenient frankness. She had not that tact which he would have liked a daughter of his to possess. She would not evade, ignore, agree not to see. She was at times painfully blunt. This happened now. He was warming to his subject when she interrupted him with a question. 'What makes you think Mr Vince is rich, father?' she asked. Mr Warden was embarrassed. The subject of Mr Vince's opulence had not entered into his discourse. He had carefully avoided it. The fact that he was thinking of it and that Ruth knew that he was thinking of it, and that he knew that Ruth knew, had nothing to do with the case. The question was not in order, and it embarrassed him. 'I--why--I don't--I never said he was rich, my dear. I have no doubt that he has ample--' 'He is quite poor.' Mr Warden's jaw fell slightly. 'Poor? But, my dear, that's absurd!' he cried. 'Why, only this evening--' He broke off abruptly, but it was too late. 'Father, you've been borrowing money from him!' Mr Warden drew in his breath, preparatory to an indignant denial, but he altered his mind and remained silent. As a borrower of money he had every quality but one. He had come to look on her perspicacity in this matter as a sort of second sight. It had frequently gone far to spoiling for him the triumph of success.