"Enough to get back first-class to Australia with a few dollars to see the year out. And I guess I can raise enough in Sydney to hire a schooner and to take up the copra business again. If I stay here I can't get along anyhow. It depends if Wyke left you the dibs." "I don't believe he has left me any dibs, as you call it," said Claudia, who was now very pale, for the revelation had startled her considerably. "Can't you leave me enough to live on for six months? I can get a situation as a governess until Edwin is rich enough to marry me." "He shan't marry you," declared Lemby, looking fierce. "Craver's only a manager in that blamed motor-car factory. He ain't even a partner." "He will be a partner one day when he gets money to put into the firm," said the girl in a low voice and keeping her temper well in hand. "And where's he going to get the cash? His father's just a blamed sky-pilot in a dashed township, the place where Wyke handed in his cheques. Craver will never be rich, and will never have a title, so he don't marry you." She clenched her hands, hardened her face, and stepped up to her tyrannical parent looking just as fierce as he did. "I don't want a title, and I don't want money," she said, passionately. "I want to marry the man I love, and Edwin is that man. I intend to become his wife, in spite of you." "You just try it, that's all." "I intend to try. I have begun to try." "You'll obey me." "I shan't. I'll obey my conscience." "I'll twist your neck, dash you!" roared the buccaneer, infuriated by this opposition, which he quite expected. "Oh, no you won't!" Claudia slipped aside, as he lunged forward, and placed the breadth of the room between them. "You were always a bully father, and are just the kind of slave-driver who should be in the forecastle of a tramp steamer. But you don't bully me. I'll die first. So there," and she stamped. "Dashed spitfire, you are," he growled. "Have it your own silly way. But you don't marry that engineer bounder, mind." "Edwin is not a bounder!" cried Claudia, indignantly. "He's a bred-and-born gentleman. While I," she added, bitingly, "I am your daughter." "Oh"--Lemby began to laugh good-humouredly--"I see what you're getting at, my girl. No, I ain't a gilded Lord, for sure, and never pretended to be. I'm just plain Oliver Lemby, as deals square by them as deals square with him. But your mother was a lady, Claudia, so your blood ain't all mud, remember." "Why don't you remember, dad," she retorted, angrily, "and treat me with some sort of respect? I know you're kind-hearted, and mean well: but your manners are awful. Be civil." "I am civil--as civil as I need be to my own daughter." "Because I am your daughter, that's no reason why I should be bullied. But it's no use talking, dada," she ended wearily, "you'll never understand."