“Do you want me to teach somebody music?” she said, wondering if this could be the pleasant solution of the enigma. “No. The--er--the business I’ve come to talk to you about ought to do away altogether with the necessity of your giving lessons.” They looked at each other silently for a moment. Win was conscious that his hands were trembling, and that his mouth was dry. He rose from his chair and mechanically reached for his hat. When he had started on his difficult errand he had been certain that she knew her relationship to his father. Now the dreadful thought entered his mind that perhaps she did not. And even if she did, it was evident that she was not going to give him the least help. “What _is_ the business you’ve come to see me about?” she asked. “It’s a question of money,” he answered. “Money!” ejaculated Mariposa, in baffled amaze. “What money? Why?” He glanced desperately into his hat and then back at her. She saw the hat trembling in his hand and suddenly realized that this man was trying to say something that was agitating him to the marrow of his being. “Mr. Shackleton,” she said, rising to her feet, “tell me what you mean. I don’t understand. I’m completely at sea. How can there be any question of money between us when I’ve never seen you or met you before? Explain it all.” He dropped the hat to his side and said slowly, looking her straight in the face: “I want to give you a share of the estate left me by my father. I look upon it as yours.” There was a pause. He saw her paling under his gaze, and realized that, whatever she might pretend, she knew. His heart bled for her. “As mine!” she said in a low, uncertain voice. “Why?” “Because you have a right to it.” There was another pause. He moved close to her and said, in a voice full of a man’s deep kindness: “I can’t explain any more. Don’t ask it. Don’t let’s bother about anything in the background. It’s just the present that’s our affair.” He suddenly dropped his hat and took her hand. It was as cold now as his had been. He pressed it, and Mariposa, looking dazedly at him, saw a gleam like tears behind the glasses. “It’s hateful to have you living here like this, while we--that is, while other people--have everything. I can’t stand it. It’s too mean and unfair. I want you to share with me.” She shook her head, looking down, a hundred thoughts bursting in upon her brain. What did he know? How had he found it out? In his grasp, her hand trembled pitifully. “Don’t shake your head,” he pleaded, “it’s so hard to say it. Don’t turn it down before you’ve heard me out.” “And it’s hard to hear it,” she murmured. “No one knows anything of this but me,” he continued, “and I promise you that no other ever shall. It’ll be just between us as between”--he paused and then added with a voice that was husky--“as between brother and sister.”