‘A very great deal. Four hundred pounds!’ Susan looks tragic. ‘And it had been set aside to put Carew into the army, so of course he feels it. The bank failed, you see.’ ‘Banks will do these rude things at times,’ says Crosby. ‘But what I fail to see is, why you can’t come with me, and get your blessing on the spot.’ ‘Why, I’ve told you’—reproachfully. ‘Father is in a bad temper, and he——’ She pauses. ‘Oh, I can’t go,’ says she. ‘But you can.’ ‘Alone! After the awful picture you have just drawn of your father’s wrath! Have you no regard for my life, Susan? Is this your vaunted love for me?—to abandon me remorselessly to the foe. Is it safe, do you think? Suppose I never come back?’ ‘Tut!’ says Susan. ‘There—go on! But be sure you say it isn’t my fault.’ ‘That makes an end of it,’ says Crosby. ‘Your fault. Whose fault is it, if it isn’t yours? Susan, I refuse to stir a step without you. I feel it is your distinct duty to be there, if only to see fair play and be a witness at the inquest afterwards. Besides, I should like you to gather up my remains; you might give a helping hand so far. Seriously, darling’—drawing her to him—‘I think it would be wise of you to come with me. He would understand so much better if—if only you will look at me as you are looking now.’ ‘Well, I’ll come,’ says Susan, sighing dejectedly, but with another look that makes his heart sing aloud for joy. ‘That’s a darling Susan! But now, before we go, I must put you through a strict cross-examination. To begin with—you are positive you love me?’ ‘Positive.’ Susan, laughing, lays her hands against his shoulders, pressing him back. ‘That doesn’t look like it!’ ‘It’s true, though!’—laughing. ‘And it isn’t out of pity?’ ‘I’ll certainly have to pity you soon. Are you going out of your mind?’ ‘No wonder if I were.’ He swiftly undoes that unkind touch upon his shoulders, and takes her in his arms and kisses her. ‘I don’t think that is cross-examination,’ says she reproachfully. No doubt later on she will be capable of developing a little wit of her own. ‘You are right. To continue, then: how much do you love me?’ ‘Better’—Susan’s eyes, now sweeter than ever, raise themselves to his for one shy moment—‘than anyone.’ ‘That is vague, Susan. Give it a voice. Better than—Bonnie? Oh no!’—quickly—‘I shouldn’t have asked that. Don’t answer it, my sweetheart,’ pressing her head against his breast. ‘We’ll take another. You love me better than you thought you would ever love anyone—tell me that, any way.’ ‘Oh, much, much more,’ says she. She clings to him for a moment, then steps back, and a little air of meditation grows on her. ‘Do you know,’ says she in a low, rather ashamed tone, ‘about this very thing I have lately been very much surprised at myself.’ It is irresistible. Crosby bursts out laughing—such happy laughter! ‘What are you laughing at?’ asks Susan, a little nervously. ‘At you.’ ‘At me?’