to me
like this."

"That's where you're wrong, my dear; for when should your best friend
come if it isn't when you're sick, and so pushed for money that you
don't know where to turn?"

"Oh, the shame of it!" moaned Rich to herself, as her eyes flashed with
mortification, while Poynter went on polishing his hat.

"You see I know all about it, and I want to show you that I'm no
fine-weather friend."

"Mr Poynter I have told you that I am ill; will you please to bring
this visit to an end? I--I cannot bear it."

"Yes, you can," he said, in what was meant to be a soothing tone; "let's
have it over at once, and have done with it. I won't hurry you. I only
want to feel that it will be some day before long; and till then here's
my hand, and it don't come to you empty. Say what's troubling you, and
what you want to pay, and there's my cheque for it. I don't care how
much it is."

"Mr Poynter," cried Rich, "you force me to speak out. I cannot take
your help, and what you wish is impossible."

"Oh, no, it isn't!" he said, smiling, and leaving his handkerchief
hanging on his hat as he tried to take her hand, which she withdrew; "I
saw the doctor the other day, before this upset. We had a long chat
over it, and he was willing."

"What! my father willing?"

"To give his consent? Yes."

"It is impossible!" cried Rich.

"Oh, no, it isn't, and what's more, Hendon and I have often chatted this
over together, and he's willing, too. Now, I say, what is the use of
making a fuss over it? There, we understand one another, and I want to
help you at once."

"Mr Poynter," cried Rich, "I now calmly and firmly tell you that what
you wish can never take place. Will you allow me to pass?"

"No," said Poynter, flushing angrily, "I won't. Now, don't put me in a
temper over this by being foolish. What's the good of it? You know
it's for the best, and that as my wife you can help the old man, and get
your brother on. See what a practise you could buy Hendon by and by."

"Mr Poynter, I have already told you, I can say no more."

"Don't say any more, then," he cried, barring her way of exit, as he
gave his hat a final polish, and pocketed his handkerchief. "I respect
you--no, I love you all the more for holding out; but there's been
enough of it now, so let's talk sensibly. Come, I say. Why, after this
upset some men would have fought shy of the place, even if you'd had a
fortune. I don't: I come to you quite humbl