They'll be spoiled for my kind of life--and they won't have
a fair chance for any other. I don't know what will become
of them."

The profound apprehension in the mother's voice did not
dull the gleam in Thorpe's eyes. He even began a smile
in the shadows of his unkempt moustache.

"But when I sent that money, for example, two years ago,
and over," he persisted, doggedly--"and I told you there'd
be more where that came from, and that I stood to pull
off the great event--even then, now, you didn't believe
in your innermost heart that I knew what I was talking about,
did you?"

She frowned with impatience as she turned toward him.
"For heaven's sake, Joel," she said, sharply--"you become
a bore with that stupid nonsense. I want to be patient
with you--I do indeed sympathize with you in your
misfortunes--you know that well enough--but you're very
tiresome with that eternal harping on what I believed and
what I didn't believe. Now, are you going to stop to supper
or not?--because if you are I must send the maid out.
And there's another thing--would it be of any help to you
to bring your things here from the hotel? You can have
Alfred's room as well as not--till Christmas, at least."

"Supposing I couldn't get my luggage out of the hotel
till I'd settled my bill," suggested Thorpe tentatively,
in a muffled voice.