"No, papa. It's not business. It's a great deal more--or a great deal
less--I don't know which."

"You don't know anything about it at all, dear. You may take that from
me. This is a man's affair. You really _must_ leave it to me to deal
with it." Once more he fell back into the depth of his arm-chair and
closed his eyes. "If you don't mind, I think I should like a little nap.
What have you got so especially against Davenant, anyhow?"

"I've nothing against him--except that I've never liked him."

"What do you know about him? When did you ever see him?"

"I _haven't_ seen him for years--not since Drusilla used to bring him to
dances, when we were young girls. She didn't like it particularly, but
she had to do it because he was her father's ward and had gone to live
with them. He was uncouth--aggressive. Wasn't he a foundling, or a
street Arab, or something like that? He certainly seemed so. He wasn't a
bit--civilized. And once he--he said something--he almost insulted me.
You wouldn't take his money now, papa?"

There was no answer. He breathed gently. She spoke more forcibly.

"Papa, you wouldn't let a stranger pay your debts?"

He continued to breathe gently, his eyes closed, the long black lashes
curling on his cheek.

"Papa, darling," she cried, "I'll help you. I'll take everything on