"Yes. Let us be serious. In the first place you oughtn't to allude to
Doria's father as 'old man Jornicroft.' It isn't respectful."

"But I don't respect him. Who could? He is bursting with money, but
won't give Doria a farthing, won't hear of our marriage, and practically
forbids me the house. What possible feeling can one have for an old
insect like that?"

"I've never seen any reason," said Barbara, who is a brave little woman,
"why Doria shouldn't run away and marry you."

"She would like a shot," cried Adrian; "but I won't let her. How can I
allow her to rush to the martyrdom of married misery on four hundred a
year, which I don't even earn?"

I looked at my watch. "It's time, my friends," said I, "to dress for
dinner. Afterwards we can continue the discussion. In the meanwhile I'll
order up some of the '89 Pol Roger so that we can drink to the success
of the book."

"The '89 Pol Roger?" cried Adrian. "A man with '89 Pol Roger in his
cellar is the noblest work of God!"

"I was thinking," Barbara remarked drily, "of asking Doria to spend a
few days here next week."

"All I can say is," he retorted, with his quick turn and smile, "that
you are the Divinity Itself."

So, a short time afterwards, a very happy Adrian sat down to dinner and