father mean by burdening me in this way?"

"He foresaw nothing of the kind," said Spence, amused. "Only the
unlikely event of Trench's death left you sole trustee. If Doran
purposed anything at all--why, who knows what it may have been?"

Mallard refused to meet the other's look; his eyes were fixed on the
horizon.

"All the same, the event was possible, and he should have chosen
another man of business. It's worse than being rich on my own
account. I have dreams of a national repudiation of debt; I imagine
dock-companies failing and banks stopping payment. It disturbs my
work; I am tired of it. Why can't I transfer the affair to some
trustworthy and competent person; yourself, for instance? Why didn't
Doran select you, to begin with--the natural man to associate with
Trench?"

"Who never opened a book save his ledger; who was the model of a
reputable dealer in calicoes; who--"

"I apologize," growled Mallard. "But you know in what sense I
spoke."

"Pray, what has Cecily become since I saw her in London?" asked the
other, after a pause, during which he smiled his own interpretation
of Mallard's humour.

"A very superior young person, I assure you," was the reply, gravely
spoken. "Miss Doran is a young woman of her time; she ranks with the