"Ah, my Dorothy," he said, with a world of tenderness in his tones, "I have learned a great deal during the last few weeks. In the past I've been a fool, and worse. I've measured people by their social position. I've set value on filigree and embroidery. I've been proud of pedigree and name, and I've tried to put my heel upon people who were my superiors in every way. Good heavens! what vain fools we are in the main. We value the pinchbeck setting and kick the diamond into the gutter." "Then you have finished with Mr. Penlogan now?" she questioned, after a long pause. "Finished with him? Why so? I hope not, anyhow." "But you have got all you want out of him." "I never said so. No, no. We shall have to form a company to work the new lode, and he will be invaluable." "And he will get nothing?" "I don't know that he wants anything. He has plenty as it is." She made no reply, and for a moment or two they looked at each other in silence. Then Sir John said, with a chuckle-- "A penny for your thoughts, Dorothy!" "A penny for yours, father." "Do you really care very much for the fellow?" "For the fellow?" "I mean for Penlogan, of course. Mind you, I'm not surprised if you do. He's the kind of fellow any girl might fall in love with, and, to be quite candid, I shouldn't object to him for a son-in-law." "Oh, father!" and she ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. "Then you do care for him, little girl?" But the only answer he got was a hug and a kiss. "Oh, very good," he went on. "I'll let him know to-morrow morning that he may come along here and see you if he likes. I don't expect he will lose very much time. What! crying, little girl? Come, come, you mustn't cry. Crying spoils the eyes. Besides, it is time we were both in bed." She kissed him more than once, and then ran hurriedly out of the room. On the following afternoon she went for a walk through the plantation alone. "He will come this way," she said to herself. "He will be sure to come this way. He knows it is my favourite walk." She walked slowly, but with every sense alert. She knew that her father had been to see Ralph, and, of course, he would be impatient to see her. If he were half as impatient as she was he would be on his way now. She espied him at length a long way down the road, and she drew back a little in the shadow of the trees and waited. Her heart was beating very fast, and happy tears kept welling up into her eyes. She was looking away from him when at length he came upon her. "Dorothy!" he said, in a voice that thrilled her like a strain of music. "Yes, Ralph," and she turned her perfect face full upon him. "Your father said I might come." "Yes, I know," and she placed both her hands in his. "I have waited long for this day," he said. "We are the happier for the waiting." "You are satisfied?" "I am very happy, Ralph."