Gerald made his appearance with the air of a man about to be hanged. He guessed well enough why Marsh wished to see him, but even in his dejection he was resolved upon making a fight of it. He had lost his inheritance, but he was determined, in his weak, mulish way, that he would not lose Hilda. And he was depending no little upon the girl herself helping him, if indeed she had not done so already. But in this he was destined to disappointment. Miss Marsh, in spite of her recent little outburst, was not the young lady to defy the world and console herself with love in a cottage. By no means; the tree must grow as the twig is bent, and although at first she had been a good deal disturbed at finding out the nature of her own feelings, it was not long before she returned to her old self, and the conclusion that in the existing circumstances Gerald Arkel was not for her, nor she for Gerald Arkel. Poor fond lover--his very moustache drooped with melancholy! "Sir," began the Roman father, for the younger man left him to open the ball, "I am astonished and pained to learn that without my consent, that utterly unknown to me, you have had the audacity to engage yourself to my child; under such provocation I have no hesitation in saying that many a father would break off such a connection, root and branch, without vouchsafing reason of any kind. But I condemn no man unheard. You will therefore perhaps grasp the opportunity I hold out to you to explain your--your part of this affair." "I love her," said Gerald, sitting miserably on his chair, "and she loves me, and what's more, I shan't give her up." "Sir! I need hardly say you astound me. But once again in justice I ask you if you are in a position to support my child?" Gerald cast a cynical glance round the shabby room. "I can give her a better home than this," he said sullenly. At this the Roman father threw off his classic yoke and took refuge in a more vehement and less stately method of expression. "Confound you and your damned impudence, Mr. Arkel. What the devil do you mean by calling my house names? We are poor if you like, but honest--and that is more, yes, a damned deal more than you are." "I am poor enough, I know, but----" "I know that; you are a pauper--an absolute pauper, yet you have the brazen impudence to want my daughter to marry you!" "I can work for her, I suppose?" "No, sir, that's just what you can't do. Idle and dissipated you have always been, and idle and dissipated you always will be. Oh, I have heard of your goings-on in London, Mr. Arkel. You spent Barton's money freely while you had it, now you haven't got it, you are certainly not likely to make any for yourself." "If the will is found----"