He was sitting in the leathern arm-chair, with his back to the parlour window, drinking his tea out of a saucer. Goddard and Lizzie sat decorously at the tea-table. It was a ceremonious occasion, as the use of the parlour, the potted ham and seed-cake on the table, Captain Jenkyns’s brass-buttoned coat, and the little blue ribbon round Lizzie’s neck, with the bow tied kittenishly under her ear, all combined to testify. Previously Goddard used to join the domestic circle in the kitchen, but then he had never been to Birmingham nor opened a banking account at the City Bank. That made all the difference. So far, conversation had not been animated. Goddard had conducted it practically alone, sketching his visit to Birmingham, which had terminated to his complete satisfaction. An offer for the shop and good-will was already under consideration. The solicitors had advanced him a good round sum for present needs. “To keep a shop warn’t good enough for yer, I suppose,” Captain Jenkyns had remarked in his agreeable way. “No,” Goddard had answered coldly--he did not love the captain. “It wasn’t.” And then he had proceeded with his story. But the talk languished. Lizzie, never expansive in her father’s presence, was less so to-day than usual. Goddard’s sudden accession to wealth--riches beyond the dreams of Lizzie’s avarice--somewhat awed her, after the first excitement had passed. His cleverness, his personality, all in fact that differentiated him from Joe Forster the tobacconist and his class, had always put him a little beyond her reach; but now that he was a rich man as well, she felt frightened and abashed. She offered him bread and butter timidly, and flushed scarlet when she awkwardly flooded his tea-cup. Then crumbs of cake went the wrong way, and she retired to the window to hide her discomfiture. “And now you’re a hindependent gentleman,” said the old man after a pause, setting down his saucer. “I suppose you won’t want to be thinking of marrying my gell.” Goddard sprang to his feet. He had his own reasons for feeling stung to the quick. “You have no right to say that,” he cried hotly. “What do you take me for?” The ex-captain made the motion of “Ease her!” with his hand, and chuckled. “Do you think I don’t know human natur’, when I’ve seed boat-loads of it every day for sixty years?” “Well, you don’t know my nature,” said Daniel. “Lizzie, come here. We’ll soon settle that matter.” Lizzie turned from the window and advanced towards him, flushing uncomfortably. “Damme! I don’t want you to marry her. I don’t care a tinker’s damn,” said the old man with unreasonable heat, as Goddard met Lizzie and took her by the hand. “I ain’t going down on my bended knees to ask you to marry her.” “Oh, father! don’t,” said Lizzie on the brink of tears. “Never mind,” said Goddard. “_I_ want to marry you, and I’m going to marry you. I’ll have the banns put up next Sunday.”