an exception. His half-brother, Howroyd, gives twice as much, with
not a quarter his money. Pity he's not the millionaire, now. He's beloved
far and near.'

'What's wrong with Clay? This is a generous entertainment, for instance.'

'Oh yes, he'll do this to show off; but he's an awful brute to his
workpeople--grinds them down and shows no mercy to weak or worn-out
employes.'

'Here, Horatia, I've got the ice,' said young Maddox.

'Thank you. I'm glad we're not millionaires, Jack. People only hate you
for it,' she remarked.

'Do they? I'd chance that if I could be one. Look what this man can do?
Anything he likes! Make a rink in a day! Come on and have a turn,' said
young Maddox, to whom this particular example of the power of wealth
naturally appealed.

Horatia was unusually quiet, for her, that afternoon, and the moment Mr
Clay appeared at the door she started up to him to tell him how much they
were enjoying themselves, for she wished to show him attention, and to
show him, too, that she had not meant to criticise him that afternoon.

CHAPTER XIII.

HORATIA'S INFLUENCE.

The millionaire did not look very prepossessing as he stood near the
door, his tall, powerful form towering above the young skaters; his
coarse, red face darkened by a scowl.

'There's an ugly-looking brute just come into the rink,' young George
Cunningham had said to Horatia, who had replied, 'That's Mr Mark Clay,'
and had made straight for her host, dodging the skaters very cleverly.

Sarah, on the other hand, who had been near the door when her father
appeared, gave one glance at his ill-tempered face, and skated in the
opposite direction. She thought that he had not seen her. Not that it
would have made any difference, for his family were wont to avoid their
head when he was what his wife called 'put out about something'--which,
alas! was only too frequently the case.

Not so Horatia. She saw the danger-signals, but was no more afraid of him
than she would have been of a fly, to use her own expression. 'We are
enjoying ourselves so much! It was a brilliant idea of yours,' she said,
beaming at him and giving his arm an approving pat.

Mark Clay looked down at the eager little, freckled face, with its
snub-nose; and, in spite of himself, he smiled back at her. 'I'm glad you
are enjoying yourself. I did it for that. You must come and spend your
winter holiday with us. It'll be a more seasonable pastime then, it seems
to me,' h