"You could make the money," laughed she, "and let me spend it for you. I
know this minute where I could put a million to glorious advantage."

"I'm going to get out of it," said West. "I've told Semple so--though
perhaps it ought not to go further just yet. I'd enjoy," said he, "just
such work as yours. There's none finer. You'd like me immensely as your
royal master, I suppose? Want nothing better than to curtsy and kowtow
when I flung out a gracious order?--as, for instance, to shut up shop
and go and take a holiday?"

"Delicious! Though I doubt if anybody in the world could improve on Mr.
Dayne." Suddenly a new thought struck her, and she made a faint grimace.
"There's nothing so very fine about my present work--oh me! I'll give
you that if you want it."

"I see I must look this gift horse over very closely. What is it?"

"They call it dunning."

"I forgot. You started to tell me, and then your dog ran amuck and
began butting perfect strangers all over the place."

"Oh," said she, "it's the commonest little story in the world. All
landladies can tell them to you by the hour. This man has been at Aunt
Jennie's nearly a month, and what's the color of his money she hasn't
the faintest idea. Such is the way our bright young men carve out their
fortunes--the true Gothic architecture! Possibly Aunt Jennie has thrown
out one or two delicate hints, carefully insulated to avoid hurting his
feelings. You know the way our ladies of the old school do--the worst
collectors the world has ever seen. So she telephoned me this