"You propose--he refuses," he said meditatively. He studied her face for several moments. "I think I know you, my child.--I would have staked my fortune, my life, that you would never have given yourself to any but a man of the highest character." His face knitted with thought; he began to nod his head ever so slightly. "I recall now that there were some queer circumstances connected with his taking the money. His motives, what he did with it, did not seem particularly plausible to me." His eyes fairly looked her through. His mind, trained to see and consider instantly all the factors of a situation, and instantly to reach a conclusion, sought with all its concentration the most logical explanation of this mystery. After a moment he said softly: "So--he didn't take the money after all?" She gazed at him in choking fascination. "If he had taken it, if he was what he seems to be, you would never have offered to marry him," he went on in the same soft voice. "I've guessed right--have I not?" She did not answer. "Have I not?" he repeated, dominantly. It seemed to her that the words were being dragged from her by a resistless power. "Yes," she whispered. The next instant she clasped her hands. "Oh, why did I tell!" she cried. "I guessed it," he said. They looked silently at each other for a space. When he spoke his tone was quiet again. "Since I know the main fact I might as well know the minor ones. Why did he pretend to be guilty?" She hesitated. But he knew the essential fact--and, besides, he was her father, and she had the daughter-desire for her father to appreciate what manner of a man this was whom she loved. So she told the story in a few sentences. "It's remarkable," he said in a voice that showed he had been affected deeply. "I can see that it was a deed to touch a woman's heart. All the same--he's not the match I'd prefer for you." He was thoughtful for several moments. He knew the quality of Helen's will--knew there was no changing her determination to marry David. The problem, then, was to arrange so that the marriage would bring the minimum disgrace. "No, he's not the match I'd prefer for you. Still, if he'll publicly admit and establish his innocence, I'll have not a word to say against him." "But we've agreed that he can't do that," she said. "I've already made plain to you that to clear himself would be to destroy St. Christopher's." "Nothing can change that decision?" "No."