The old man fingered the tassel of his cap, and chewed it meditatively for a few moments. "I remember," he said, at last. "So, she's going to marry Ormsby, because Dick is supposed to be dead--and disgraced. Well, a sensible girl. Ormsby is rich. She knew that Dick would have money, lots of it, at my death; and, when she couldn't have him, she chose the next best man, the banker's son. Sensible girl, Dora Dundas. The question is--what's Dick going to do?" "Father, Dick has behaved nobly, but unfortunately he is ill at home; and at any moment may be arrested. That's why I want to be prepared to prevent it. He talks of going abroad--emigrating--when he's strong enough." "What!" screamed the old man, in astonishment. "He's not going to stand up for his honor, my honor, the honor of the family? What's he made of?" "Father, father, can't you understand? If he speaks, he denounces me, his mother. Am I not one of the family? Think what my position is. It was as much for his sake as for John's that I took the money. You wouldn't save us from ruin. I was driven to desperation, you know I was. It was your fault, and you must do what is in your power to avert the threatened disgrace. Father, the bank people cannot possibly prosecute, if you pay them the seven thousand dollars. I will repay it out of my allowance in instalments." There was silence for a few moments, during which the old man surveyed the situation with a clear mental vision, superior to that of his daughter. "And you think Ormsby is going to compound a felony, and at the same time bring back to the neighborhood a young man in love with his future wife?" "If I confessed everything, father, do you think that Ormsby would spare me, Dick's mother! Oh, it's all a horrible tangle. It's driving me mad!" "Ha! ha!" chuckled the old man. "You're beginning to use your brain a little. You're beginning to realize the value of money--and you don't like it. Well, you can unravel your own tangle. Don't come to me." The sight of her distress seemed to whet his appetite for cruelty. He rubbed salt into the open wounds with zest. "Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I won't. Not a penny do I pay. Seven thousand dollars!" "Father, a hundred thousand could not make any difference to you," she cried. "You must let me have the money. Take it out of my mother's allowance." "What allowance? Who told you anything about any allowance?" "Father, you're an old man, and your memory is failing you. You know, I'm entitled to an allowance from my mother's money. You don't mean to say you're going to stop that?" "Who's stopping your allowance? Trimmer! Trimmer!" he cried. Something in his manner--a look--a guilty terror in his eyes, made itself apparent to the woman. The reference to her mother frightened him. She saw behind the veil--but indistinctly.