“Fifteen thousand will carry us to Virginia and over the wedding. Harrower’s to be back in the spring and they’ll be married as soon as he comes. Spencer wants the house in January or February. That will just about fit in. We can go to Virginia as soon as the sale’s completed and have everything ready and in shape by the time Harrower gets here. And it will be better for June, too, better to get her out of all this. She feels pretty bad, poor little girl! One of the reasons that makes me so keen about selling the place and leaving is to get her away from all this talk about Barclay and that Gracey girl.” The Colonel, without raising his eyes, said: “You’ll want the whole twenty-five thousand.” “No--no--” said Allen with undisguised eagerness, hope illuminating his face, “fifteen will do, though of course twenty would be better. Fifteen ought to carry us well along into the summer, and by that time the Maybough should be paying. There’ll be the wedding and the trousseau. Of course twenty would be better, but if you’ll let me have the fifteen I can do it. I’ll invest the other ten any way you may say and--” He stopped as the Colonel turned from the fire with a short laugh. “Sell the house,” he said, “and take it all.” “What?--” Allen did not quite dare to believe it. “Sell the house. See Spencer as soon as you can, and I’ll give you satisfaction of the mortgage.” “Jim!” the other ejaculated, and held out a shaking hand. But the Colonel brushed by it and passed into the hall, where his hat and coat hung. Allen followed him, trying to talk, but he stopped the feeble words of gratitude. Standing under the hall lamp, the light falling on his white hair, he said, “There’s no thanks between you and me. If it wasn’t for your daughters I’d see you standing on the corner begging for nickels and not drop one in your tin cup. And you know it. You know, too, what I feel about them, and why I feel it. You know I’d do it again if I had the money. But I haven’t. There’s not much more to be got out of me. You’ve about sucked me dry.” The night was clear and he walked home, slowly and lingeringly by a circuitous route of cross-streets. At first he paced onward in an absorbed reverie, his eyes down, striking the cracks in the pavement with the tip of his cane. Presently he looked up above the housetops, at the widths of sky sown with great, calm stars. It was early night; only the larger stars were visible. Once or twice as he walked on looking up, he laughed, a short, dry laugh, at himself and the follies he had committed.