"I love her with all my heart.
Why, she's like a little child, and she's being so hurt. You've never
refused me anything. Help me to make her happy."

"When she has gotten over her fancy for you, when Fulton has plenty of
money for her to spend, she will be as happy as she deserves to
be--until she makes herself miserable again by indulging in some affair
similar to this. Now, my dear boy, go back to her, tell her that you
haven't enough money to elope on and no way of getting it. Tell her
also that if at the end of a year's probation you and she still want
each other, nobody will oppose you, and that you, on the day of your
marriage to her, will be made a rich man in your own right."

"Father, I _want_ her so."

"And I _want_ champagne so," said my father. "And the accursed doctor
has forbidden it. Do I torture myself? Not at all. I turn for solace
to an excellent bottle of Scotch whiskey. And this has at least the
effect of making me want the champagne less. Don't get confused
between psychology and physiology. If I were in your boots I'd slip
over to Paris--and drink Scotch whiskey."

So I went back to New York, and, as soon as possible, I talked to Lucy
over the telephone, and told her about the interview with my father.

"But," I finished, "we'll do whatever you say. We can't very well land
in Europe without any money; but I've still got most of the passage
money; and if you say so, we can stay right in this country and live on
that for a few weeks, while I try to get a job. I could borrow some
money, but it would have to be paid back. Oh, Lucy, this is such a
humiliating confession to make, but what _can_ I do?"

"Everybody is against us," she said, "everything--I don't suppose
there's any use struggling."

She sounded cold and tired.

"I suppose," she went on slowly, "we'll have to wait, the way John
says. Shall we?"

"You say it, Lucy. Don't make me say it."

"So we'll wait," she said; "not see each other, and not communicate. I
don't see how I can stand it, but I suppose I can. . . . A whole
year--a whole year!"

"At the end of it, my darling, all that there is in the world for me,
nobody will stand in our way; there'll be plenty of money and a long
life before us."

"Listen . . . all the long time will you take care of yourself?"

"Yes, Lucy."

"And not notice any other ladies?" . . .

"Lucy . . . let's take a chance on what I have got."

A long silence. Then: "Oh, no.