like this is apt to be snapped up in
a hurry."

Jill could endure it no longer.

"But, you see," she said gently, "all I have in the world is twenty
dollars!"

There was a painful pause. Mr. Mariner shot a swift glance at her in
the hope of discovering that she had spoken humorously, but was
compelled to decide that she had not.

"Twenty dollars!" he exclaimed.

"Twenty dollars," said Jill.

"But your father was a rich man." Mr. Mariner's voice was high and
plaintive. "He made a fortune over here before he went to England."

"It's all gone. I got nipped," said Jill, who was finding a certain
amount of humour in the situation, "in Amalgamated Dyes."

"Amalgamated Dyes?"

"They're something," explained Jill, "that people get nipped in."

Mr. Mariner digested this.

"You speculated?" he gasped.

"Yes."

"You shouldn't have been allowed to do it," said Mr. Mariner warmly.
"Major Selby, your uncle, ought to have known better than to allow
you."

"Yes, oughtn't he?" said Jill demurely.

There was another silence, lasting for about a quarter of a mile.

"Well, it's a bad business," said Mr. Mariner.

"Yes," said Jill. "I've felt that myself."

* * * * *

The result of this conversation was to effect a change in the
atmosphere of Sandringham. The alteration in the demeanour of people
of parsimonious habit, when they discover that the guest they are
entertaining is a pauper and not, as they had supposed, an heiress, is
subtle but well marked. In most cases, more well marked than subtle.
Nothing was actually said, but there are thoughts that are almost as
audible as words. A certain suspense seemed to creep into the air, as
happens when a situation has been reached which is too poignant to
last. Greek Tragedy affects the reader with the same sense of
overhanging doom. Things, we feel, cannot go on as they are.

That night, after dinner, Mrs. Mariner asked Jill to read to her.

"Print tries my eyes so, dear," said Mrs. Mariner.

It was a small thing, but it had the significance of that little cloud
that arose out of the sea like a man's hand. Jill appreciated the
portent. She was, she perceived, to make herself useful.

"Of course I will," she said cordially. "What would you like me to
read?"

She hated reading aloud. It always made her throat sore, and her eye
skipped to the end of each page and took the interest out of it long
before the proper time. But she proceed