ter all, it isn't much. It's what he
spends on one dinner often, and it would keep me in cigarettes, at any
rate. So I thought I'd stick to it, as well as my secret service screw.
Besides--supposing he wasn't my father at all? Supposing he'd been paid
by someone--someone very much more exalted than he, to bring me up?"

"Whatever do you mean, Louis?" she cried.

"Oh, never mind, never mind, old girl. But some day, perhaps, you'll
know all I've had to go through--"

There was a pause full of strained thinking. At last she burst out
nervously, "But you've told your father not to send any more money,
haven't you?"

"Yes, of course. I felt I couldn't be married to you on money I didn't
earn. But this secret service--it is all so confidential--we have to
guard our orders most carefully in case they get anything--"

"They? Who are they?" she asked quickly.

"The enemy--Germans and Chinese. There's quite a conspiracy on foot in
Australia," he added, looking important. But he would tell her no more.

"Shall you be at work as soon as we get to Sydney?" she asked.

"It all depends on my orders. If we can stagger through the first few
weeks, till I can get some cash--I say, Marcella, why shouldn't you ask
your uncle for some money?"

"Because he'd make me go home with him if I did."

"But couldn't you tell him you'd changed your plans, and had a good job
in Sydney? We can make up a tale for him. Just think how jolly it will
be to be together, darling! I know it isn't nice to ask people for
money, but--it's worth it, isn't it? You need never see him again.
Anyway, if you went to live with him you'd cost him a considerable
amount, wouldn't you? Why shouldn't he give you some money now instead
of that? After all, it's up to well-to-do relations to help a girl who's
all alone in the world. Your father's dead--"

It took him all the morning to persuade her. It was only when he told
her how he went all to pieces if he had to worry about money, and a
moment later painted glowing pictures of the month they would have
together if his orders permitted, before they attempted to do anything
definite, that she consented. He very rapidly sketched a tale for her to
tell her uncle; Marcella hated the lies, for they seemed unnecessary
until Louis told her that no uncle in his senses would let her marry a
man she had only known six weeks.

"But if you talked to him, Louis," she pleaded, "I'm sure he'd like
you."

"I'm not. He'd ask