"You are surprised, of course; and no wonder. I didn't exactly what you call 'break it gently,' did I? And I forgot that you haven't been thinking of this thing every minute for the last--er--month, as I have. Won't you sit down, please." With an abrupt gesture he motioned her to a chair, and dropped into one himself. "I can't, of course, beat about the bush now. I want you to come here to this house and be a daughter to me. Will you?" "But, _Mr. Denby_!" "'This is so sudden!' Yes, I know," smiled the man grimly. "That's what your face says, and no wonder. It may seem sudden to you--but it is not at all so to me. Believe me, I have given it a great deal of thought. I have debated it--longer than you can guess. And let me tell you at once that of course I want your mother to come, too. That will set your mind at rest on that point." "But I--I don't think yet that I--I quite understand," faltered the girl. "In what way?" "I can't understand yet why--why you want me. You see, I--I have thought lately that--that you positively disliked me, Mr. Denby." Her chin came up with the little determined lift so like her mother. With a jerk Burke Denby got to his feet and resumed his nervous stride up and down the room. "My child,"--he turned squarely about and faced her,--"I want you. I need you. This house has become nothing but a dreary old pile of horror to me. You, by some sweet necromancy of your own, have contrived to make the sun shine into its windows. It's the first time for years that there has been any sun--for me. But when you go, the sun goes. That's why I want you here all the time. Will you come? Of course, you understand I mean adoption--legally. But I don't want to dwell on that part. I want you to _want_ to come. I want you to be happy here. Won't you come?" Betty drew in her breath tremulously. For a long minute her gaze searched the man's face. "Well, Miss Betty?" There was a confident smile in his eyes. He had the air of a man who has made a certain somewhat dreaded move, but who has no doubt as to the outcome. "I'm afraid I--can't, Mr. Denby." "You--_can't_!" Betty, in spite of her very real and serious concern and anxiety, almost laughed at the absolute amazement on the man's face. "No, Mr. Denby." "May I ask why?" There was the chill of ice in his voice. Again Betty felt the almost hysterical desire to laugh. Still her face was very grave. "You-- I-- In the end you would not want me, Mr. Denby," she faltered, "because I--I should not be--happy here." "May I ask why--_that_?" There was no answer. "Miss Darling, why wouldn't you be happy here?" Genuine distress came into Betty's face. "I would rather not say, Mr. Denby." "But I prefer that you should." "I can't. You would think me--impertinent." "Not if I tell you to say it, Miss Betty. Why can't you be happy here? You know very well that you would have everything that money could buy." "But what I want is something--money can't buy." "What do you mean?"