gently but firmly, and drew them down. With his back to the firelight,
she could not see his face, but he could see hers, and the swift change
in its expression. She was puzzled and surprised, but, as her hands
were still held fast in his iron fists, resting on his knee, she was
not conscious of the state of the case.

"My girl," he said, clearing his throat--she had allowed him
so many liberties that this mode of address was quite in order--"you
and I can speak plainly to each other. There's no need for us to beat
about the bush, is there?"

"Of course not," she replied, all at sea as to what this portended, but
jumping to the conclusion that he was going to be proud about the
money. "It would be an odd thing if we took to being shy, at this time
of day."

"It would, wouldn't it?" He cleared his throat again, and made a fresh
start. "Look here, Francie--don't do that! Listen to me child--"

"I am not a child, sir. Allow me to inform you that I was twenty-nine
last birthday." She was so pleased to think she was only twenty-nine,
rich and free, with her life in her hands, and half a year-from thirty
still, when she might have dragged on till she was old and grey, or in
her grave! "And why am I not to do that? Since when have you lost your
taste for kisses?" Then suddenly, with an anxious cry--"Guthrie!
darling! what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," he said hastily--"nothing, of course, except that we must
be serious and sensible, and--and talk things over quietly, dear. As
you say, you are not a child. No more am I. We know the ropes, Francie,