are very much mistaken. If you think I am giving her two million dollars
as a wedding gift because I expect it to purchase her love and esteem, you
do my intelligence an injustice. If you think that I relish the prospect
of having that girl in my house from now till the day I die, worrying the
soul out of me, you are too simple for words. I am marrying her, not
because I love her, my lad, but—but because I love _you_. God forbid that
I should ever sink so low as to steal from my own flesh and blood.
Stealing is one thing, bartering another. I expect to convince you that I
have not taken anything from you that is of value, hence I am not a
malefactor."

Braden, seated opposite him, his elbows on the arms of the chair, leaned
forward and watched the old man curiously. A new light had come into his
eyes when Mr. Thorpe uttered those amazing words—"but because I love
_you_." He was beginning to see, he was beginning to analyse the old man's
motives, he was groping his way out of the fog.

"You will have hard work to convince me that I have not been treated most
unfairly, most vilely," said he, his lips still compressed.

"Many years ago," said Mr. Thorpe, fixing his gaze on the lazy fire, "I
asked Anne's grandmother to marry me. I suppose I thought that I was
unalterably in love with her. I was the very rich son of a very rich man,
and—pardon my conceit—what you would call an exceedingly good catch. Well,
in those days things were not as they are now. The young lady, a great
beauty and amazingly popular, happened to be in love with Roger Blair, a
good-looking chap with no fortune and no prospects. She took the advice of
her mother and married the man she loved, disdaining my riches and me as
well. Roger wasn't much of a success as a husband, but he was a source of
enlightenment and education to his wife. Not in the way you would suspect,