Mr. Reiss drops his glasses, gets up from his chair, and stands before the fire, facing his nephew. “So you lent him fifty pounds, did you? A third of your annual allowance. You had no business to--and if Captain Whatever’s-his-name were a respectable man, he would have saved the money to pay for the ring. Instead of that _I_ have to pay for it.” “Oh no, uncle.” “How d’you mean--‘no, uncle’? Aren’t you asking me for money? It’s always the same story with the lot of you. You like to be generous at other people’s expense. I’ve told you I’m a ruined man. The fortune which was the result of my hard work all my life has disappeared. I’m a poor man. I spend nothing on myself. I’ve given up my car. I’ve put down everything. I’m trying to dispose of my pictures and to sell the lease of this place. You don’t seem to understand what this infernal war means to people like myself. _You_ don’t have to pay for it. Do you realize that one-third of my entire income goes for income tax? I’ve paid your bills over and over again, but I can’t do it any more. For this once I’ll--” The boy holds up his hand. “Look here, uncle. I’d better tell you at once. I shall need another fifty to make me square. But I’ll pay you back--on my honour--” “Bah! Your honour! Pay me back. I know what that means. So it’s a hundred pounds you want. Very well. You shall have your hundred pounds. But I solemnly warn you that it’s the last penny I intend to pay for your extravagance. As for that waster of a Captain What’s-his--” The boy flushes to the roots of his light, wavy hair. “I say, uncle. He’s not a waster. He’s the finest fellow in the regiment. I can’t allow you--Look here--never mind the money. The jeweller knows it’s all right. I’d rather--” He stops. The words won’t come. He gazes at his uncle helplessly. Mr. Reiss goes slowly to the writing-table and sits down. Taking a blank cheque from a pocket-book he always carries, he fills it in and passes it to the boy without speaking. “I don’t like taking it, uncle. I don’t, really--” Mr. Reiss half turns round. He still says nothing, he does not even grunt. He knows that there are times when silence is golden. Moreover, he knows that money talks. A few minutes later Mr. Adolf Reiss is again sitting alone, gazing into the fire. And he has another grievance against Life. * * * * *