She screened her face from the blaze with an opened fan, and he saw little save what an emulating flame leaping higher than its fellows, revealed. “I want to talk to you seriously,” he said, and took his seat at the other end of the couch. “Please don’t talk too seriously; I want to be amused,” she said. There was silence for a few minutes, then: “I suppose you realize,” he said, “that within a week or so you will be the daughter of a very rich man?” He could not see her face distinctly in the half-light, but he thought he saw her smile. “I have not realized it,” she replied quietly, “but I suppose that you are right. Why?” “Why? Oh, nothing--except that I am not immensely wealthy myself.” She waited for him to go on. “You see?” he suggested after a while. She laughed outright. “I see all there is to be seen, namely, that father will be very rich, and you will not be as rich. What else do you wish me to see?” He wished her to see more than he cared for the moment to describe, but she was blandly obstinate and most unhelpful. “I hate being conventional,” he said, “more than I hate being heroic. I feel that any of Peter’s heroes might have taken the line I take--and it is humiliating. But I--I want to marry you, dear, and you have of a sudden become horribly rich.” She laughed again, a clear whole-hearted laugh of girlish enjoyment. “Come and sit by me,” she commanded; “closer....” * * * * * “Do you ever go to bed, my dear?” asked Frank Sutton from the doorway. “It is past eleven o’clock, and Peter and I are bored with one another.” He walked across the room and jabbed the fire. “And you’ve let the fire go out, you wretched people.” Cynthia rose guiltily. “I’m afraid,” she faltered, “Captain Grey--we----” “I’m afraid you have,” agreed her brother, as with a smile he kissed her. “Say good night to Amber: father is asleep.” They heard the rustle of her skirts as she went through the hall to the stairs. “Talking with Peter?” questioned Amber. “I thought you were working most industriously in your library.” Sutton was poking the fire vigorously. “Finished that an hour ago; how long do you think you people have been gassing?” Amber discreetly hazarded no opinion. “I found Peter tremendously interesting,” Sutton said with a laugh. “The little room we have given him looks like nothing so much as a newsagent’s--one of those newsagents that specialize in the pernicious literature beloved of youth.” “’Ware hasty judgment,” said Amber gravely, “these pernicious----” There was a hasty step in the hall, the door opened and Cynthia came in a little white of face. Amber took a quick step forward. “What is it?” he asked. “Father is not in his room,” she said breathlessly. “I went in to say good night--he has not been to bed----” The three looked at each other. “He is in the garden, I expect,” said Frank uneasily. “He has gone out before, though I’ve begged him not to.”