He briefly related the story of his unfortunate affair with Muriel
Coppin. Within an hour of his departure in the aeroplane, his
conscience had begun to trouble him on this point. He felt that he had
not acted well toward Muriel. True, he was practically certain that she
didn't care a bit about him and was in love with Albert, the silent
mechanic, but there was just the chance that she was mourning over his
loss; and, anyhow, his conscience was sore.

"I'd like to give her something," he said. "How much do you think?"

Mr. Windlebird perpended.

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send my own lawyer to her with--say,
a thousand pounds--not a check, you understand, but one thousand golden
sovereigns that he can show her--roll about on the table in front of her
eyes. That'll console her. It's wonderful, the effect money in the raw
has on people."

"I'd rather make it two thousand," said Roland. He had never really
loved Muriel, and the idea of marrying her had been a nightmare to him;
but he wanted to retreat with honor.

"Very well, make it two thousand, if you like. Tho I don't quite know
how old Harrison is going to carry all that money."

As a matter of fact, old Harrison never had to try. On thinking it
over, after he had cashed Roland's check, Mr. Windlebird came to the
conclusion that seven hundred pounds would be quite as much money as it
would be good for Miss Coppin to have all at once.