“I believe you,” said the old man, cordially. “You meant to play square, I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you? But, all the same, if your uncle were to die to-morrow, I should be done out of £5,000. I don’t pretend to say that £5,000 would break me. Thank God I can run to six figures with something bigger than a ‘1’ in front any day, when all is called in. But money is money. Now, as a gentleman, would you feel morally justified in abiding by your legal rights?” “No,” said Hugh, “I wouldn’t. But circumstances----” “I know,” interrupted the money-lender, with upraised hand. “They aren’t quite yet what they ought to be. But you are going to be a successful man. They will alter. Now I have a friendly proposal to make to you.” “And I am coming with one to you, Mr. Hart,” said Hugh, with a smile. “And I think you had better hear mine first. You consider me an honest man?” “I do.” “And you don’t disapprove of me personally?” “On the contrary, I’m very pleased and proud to call you a friend of mine. You wouldn’t have had my money otherwise.” “Then, Mr. Hart, you make easier what I have to say. It concerns your daughter, Miss Hart.” “What? Minna--my daughter?” said the old man, with a sharp change of tone. “I have the honour to ask you for her hand in marriage.” “You!” An indescribable change came over the old man’s face. Instantly it lost the sleek and coarse materialism of the money-getter, the half-sensual content of the easy-going man who has well dined, the patronising geniality of the prosperous host. A fire glowed in his eyes. His Jewish features seemed to grow more prominent. The grey beard framed a strange, patriarchal dignity. The Jew, proud and unconquered through centuries of oppression, overwhelming all other accidents of life in the eternal arrogance of race, was regarding, with angry and incredulous scorn, the Gentile, the hybrid child of yesterday. “You!” he repeated, almost insultingly. The young man’s quick blood flamed in his cheeks. He started to his feet. “Yes, I. Why shouldn’t I?” he cried in a loud voice. At that moment the door opened, and the butler entered, bearing a tray with spirit-case and glasses. Hugh turned quickly, and bent towards the fire with a spill, to light a cigarette. The butler set his trayload on the great library table, secured the windows of the room and drew the curtains, which had remained looped back. “You need not sit up, Samuels,” said Israel. “I will let Mr. Colman out and lock up.” With discreet thanks the butler withdrew. Hugh threw his cigarette into the grate, put his hands into his pockets and faced his host once more. “I consider my proposal is quite justifiable, Mr. Hart.” “Are you aware what you are asking?” “Yes. I am a poor man. She is rich. I owe you money. But still----” “Money? What has money to do with it?” interrupted the Jew, grandly. “If you had the rent-roll of the Grosvenors it would make no difference.”