The threat brought the Squire to his knees. "No! no! Don't go!" he cried in piteous tones. "I can't live without you. I wish to marry you. See, Patricia, dear, I shall settle Beckleigh on you, and when the emerald brings back the good luck you shall----" "The emerald will only bring bad luck," said Patricia, interrupting coldly. "And if you had millions I would not marry you. I love you as a daughter, and I thought that you loved me in the same way. Basil and I are engaged and intend to get married in a few months." "He has no money," wailed the Squire, clutching the sheets; "no money." "I don't care. He is the man I love." "He has no right to ask you to marry him." "If he had not asked me, Mr. Colpster, I believe I should have asked him," was the girl's quick answer. "Can't you understand that he is the only man in the world for me? If you don't, then the sooner I leave this house the better. You have no right to dictate to me, and I won't allow it." "I'll cut Basil out of my will. I shall leave the property to Theodore." "That is a matter for your own consideration," said Patricia coldly. "Now it's time for your beef-tea, and I must go and get it." "I shan't take it," cried the Squire childishly. "Mr. Colpster, for a man of your years you are very silly." "My years--my years; you reproach me with those!" "I reproach you with nothing," said Miss Carrol, tired of the futile argument. "Can't you see that if you go on like this I must leave?" "No, don't," he implored, with wild eyes. "I'll be good." "Very well," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now I shall get your beef-tea," and for that purpose she left the room. Left alone, Mr. Colpster whimpered a little. He was old, he was sick, and he was very sorry for himself. He had sought to woo a girl who was young enough to be his daughter, and his wooing had taken the fashion of trying to bribe her with house and land and money. To this insult she had retorted by showing him the mother that is hidden in every woman, married or unmarried. He felt like a naughty boy who had been put in the corner, and at his age he did not like the new experience. He could have kicked himself for having gone on his knees to be whipped, for that was what it amounted to. In the darkness--it was evening, and there was no light in the big bed-room save that of the fire--he flushed and burned with shame. How, indeed, could she, having found her mate in a young man of her own age, beautiful and ardent as she was, be expected to accept his Philistine offer of beeves and land?