He smoked in silence for a moment. Then he resumed:

"I should like, Nan, with your permission, to double your allowance and
make it six hundred a year."

Nan gasped.

"You see," he pursued, "though I'm only a mere man, I know the cost of
living has soared sky-high, including"--with a sly glance at
Penelope--"the cost of menservants and maidservants."

"Well, but really, Uncle, I could manage with less than that," protested
Nan. "Four or five hundred, with what we earn, would be quite
sufficient--quite."

St. John regarded her reflectively.

"It might be--for some people. But not for you, my child. I know your
temperament too well! You've the Davenant love of beauty and the
instinct to surround yourself with all that's worth having, and I hate to
think of its being thwarted just for lack of money. After all, money is
only of value for what it can procure--what it does for you. Well, being
a Davenant, you want a lot of the things that money can procure--things
which wouldn't mean anything at all to many people. They wouldn't even
notice whether they were there or not. So six hundred a year it will be,
my dear. On the same understanding as before--that you renounce the
income should you marry."

Nan gripped his hand hard.