hundred
and fifty pounds; could you make a start, do you think?'

'I rather suppose I could. And where's two hundred and fifty pound to
come from, Miss Nancarrow?'

'I'll lend it you if you like.'

He gazed at her with so strange a face that Totty broke into hearty
laughter. Bunce joined, appreciating the joke.

'I mean it, Mr. Bunce. I've got two hundred and fifty pounds--at all
events I can have, whenever I like.'

He gazed again, wondering at her tone.

'Now I see you don't believe me, so I shall have to explain.'

She told him the story of her legacy, only forbearing to speak of the
condition attached to it.

'Will you let me lend it you, Mr. Bunce?'

'No, I'm sure I shan't, Miss Nancarrow. You'll have plenty of use for
that yourself.'

'Look here, Nelly!' The child was listening to this remarkable
dialogue, and trying to understand. 'Tell your father he's to do just
what I want. If he doesn't, I'll never speak again neither to you nor
Jacky. Now, I mean it.'

'Please father,' said Nelly, 'do what Miss Nancarrow wants.'

Bunce kept his face half averted. He was at a dire pass.

'Well, Mr. Bunce?'

'That's all nonsense!' he exclaimed. 'How can I tell that I should ever
be able to pay you back?'

'So you won't?'

'Of course I can't. It's just like you to offer, but of course I can't.'

'Very well, I can't help it.' She lowered her voice. 'I forgot to tell
you that I can't get the money till I'm married. It doesn't matter,
I've offered it.'

Bunce stared at her.

'Good-bye, Nelly,' Totty went on. 'I can't be friends with you after
this. Your father's told me to go about my business.'

'No, he hasn't,' protested the child, dolorously. 'You haven't, have
you, father?'

'Yes, he has. It doesn't matter, I'm off.'

She jumped up. Bunce sprang to his feet at the same time, and caught
her up in a moment. She turned, looked at him reddened, laughed.

'Why did you say anything about that money?' he began, able to speak
without restraint at length. 'If I hadn't known about that!'

'I don't see what the money's got to do with it.'

'I do. Look, I should have felt like making a fool of myself--a man of
my age and with two children--but I do believe when I'd got into those
new rooms I couldn't have helped some day asking you if--well, I can't
say it. I'm ashamed of myself, that's the truth.'

'And what does that matter, Mr. Bunce, so long as I'm not ashamed of
you?'

'When you might do so well?