story as to tell me that you believe my father is trying to get the best
of you all, and you seem to be a little nervous about it. Well, I know
my father, and I don't mind telling you that I should not be in the
least surprised if you were right."

He lit a cigarette and passed the box across the table to her.

"Good!" he said. "It is a pleasure to talk to you, Miss Duge. You grasp
everything so quickly. Now you understand the position, then. There are
three or four of us, including myself, on one side, and your father on
the other. Supposing it was in your power to help either, and your
interests lay with us," he added, speaking with a certain meaning in his
tone--"well, to cut it short, how should you feel about it?"

"You mean," she said slowly, "would my filial devotion outweigh--other
considerations?"

He looked at her admiringly.

"You are a marvel, Miss Duge," he said. "That is exactly what I do
mean."

She leaned back in her chair for a moment, and looked thoughtfully
through the little cloud of cigarette smoke into the face of the man
opposite to her.

"You have probably heard," she said, "that my father turned me out of
his house."

"There was a rumour--" he began hesitatingly.