"Weston has been to Burwain, and has got his land lease for a few months," said Cannington, "and to-morrow he is taking down a gang of men to erect fences. Within a week--so he says--the fences will be up, and in a fortnight the sheds will be erected. Then he can take down the various parts of his airship to put the beastly thing together." "But to get fences and sheds rigged up in such a hurry will take a very great number of men." "Of course. However, Dicky has thirty thousand pounds a year----" "So much as that? Why doesn't Mabel marry him, then? She wants money and love. Weston can give her both." "Do you think so, really, old chap?" "I am certain of it. He was dreadfully jealous of our friend, Mr. Marr." "Well, I think he is. You see Dicky looks on Mabel as his own property, and hates anyone to poach. I wish he would adjust the situation, but hang him, he won't--that is, he has done his best, and can't." "Why don't you ask him his intentions? You are the head of the family." Cannington grew red. "Oh, hang it, I can't. It would look as though I were shying Mabel at the chap's head. It will all come right in time." "Unless Mabel, in a fit of pique, accepts Marr." "She won't do that. He's bunked out of the business." "Really!" said I, with feigned surprise, "and why?" "Lord only knows," said Cannington indifferently. "Aunt Lucy is in a fine state about his clearing. He wrote and said he had a sudden call on business to South America--something to do with a silver mine, I fancy--and would be away for a year. Aunt Lucy says this means he has given up any idea of making Mab his wife, and she blames poor Mab, and says it was her flirting with Dicky that sent old Marr off." "It's just as well, Cannington. Weston is a much better match for your sister, and is quite rich enough, besides being younger. But has Marr really gone away?" "I suppose so. I haven't seen him about town lately, and he said that he was sailing soon for New York. I'm sure I don't care: he can go hang for me." He laughed. "Aunt Lucy said I ought to thrash him for compromising Mabel. But that's all bosh. Mab's quite able to look after herself, and I can't lay hands on a man old enough to be my father. What do you think? Ought I to thrash him?" Privately I thought that it would do Mr. Marr-Monk good to have a trifle of physical pain, and when Cannington knew the whole truth I was not at all sure but what he would reconsider his position and thrash the scoundrel. But since Monk had kept his promise I had to keep mine, so I merely shrugged my shoulders. "He's too old, boy. Besides, your sister never cared for him. When the airship is floated--is that the correct term--Weston is sure to propose." "And you expect Mab to take him with a 'Thank you,'" flashed out the boy, growing red and haughty. "Well," said I, with a look of surprise, "she loves him." "That's true enough, but she's not going to be at the beck and call of Master Dick, as I told him." "When?"