Honest people never grow rich. And then you have such a dangerous profession; taking people flying trips in those aeroplanes. One never can be sure if you will be home to supper. I’m sure Lillian would not care to marry a husband who was uncertain about being home for supper.”

“I’ll marry Dan,” said Lillian, and embraced Dan, who returned the embrace.

“Children! Children!” Mrs. Bolstreath raised her hands in horror, “think of what you are doing. The servants may be in at any moment. Come to the drawing-room and have coffee. The motor-car is waiting and—hush, separate, separate,” cried the chaperon, “someone is coming!”

She spoke truly, for the lovers had just time to fly asunder when Sir Charles’s secretary entered swiftly. He was a lean, tall, haggard-looking young fellow of thirty with a pallid complexion and scanty light hair. A thin moustache half concealed a weak mouth, and he blinked his eyes in a nervous manner when he bowed to the ladies and excused his presence. “Sir Charles left his spectacles here,” he said in a soft and rather unsteady voice, “he sent me for them and—” he had glided to the other side of the table by this time—“oh, here they are! The motor-car waits, Miss Moon.”

“Where is my father?” asked Lillian irrelevantly. “Tell me, Mr. Penn.”

“In the library, Miss Moon,” said the secretary glibly, “but he cannot see anyone just now—not even you, Miss Moon.”

“Why not?”

“He is waiting to interview an official from Scotland Yard—a Mr. Durwin on important business.”

“You see,” murmured Dan to Lillian in an undertone, “your father intends to lock me up for daring to love you.”

Miss Moon took no notice. “What is the business?” she asked sharply.

“Indeed I don’t know, Miss Moon. It is strictly private. Sir Charles has related nothing to me. And if you will excuse me—if you don’t mind—these spectacles are wanted and—” he babbled himself out of the room, while Mrs. Bolstreath turned on her charge.

“You don’t mean to say, you foolish child, that you were going to see your father about this,” she indicated Halliday.

“I don’t care about being called a ‘this’!” said Dan, stiffly.

Neither lady noticed the protest. “I want to make it clear to my father as soon as possible, that I shall marry Dan and no one else,” declared Lillian, pursing up her pretty mouth obstinately.

“Then take him at the right moment,” retorted Mrs. Bolstreath crossly, for the late interview had tried even her amiable temper. “Just now he is seething with indignation that an aviator should dare to raise his eyes to you.”

“Aviators generally look down,” said Dan flippantly; “am I to be allowed to take you and Lillian to the theatre this evening?”

“Yes. Although Sir Charles mentioned that you would do better to spend your money on other things than mere frivolity.”

“Oh!” said Halliday with a shrug, “as to that, this particular frivolity is costing me nothing. I got the box from Freddy Laurance, who is on that very up-to-date newspaper ‘The Moment’ as a reporter. I have dined at my future father-in-law’s expense, and now I go in his motor-car without paying for the trip. I don’t see that my pleasures could cost me less. Even Sir Charles must be satisfied with such strict economy.”

“Sir Charles will be satisfied with nothing save a promise for you to go away and leave Lillian alone,” said Mrs. Bolstreath, sadly; “he has no feeling of romance such as makes me foolish enough to encourage a pauper.”

“You called me that before,” said Dan, coolly; “well, there’s no getting over facts. I am a pauper, but I love Lillian.”

“And I—” began Lillian, advancing, only to be waved back and prevented from speaking further by Mrs. Bolstreath.

“Don’t make love before my very eyes,” she said crossly; “after all I am paid to keep you two apart, and—and—well, there’s no time for coffee, so we had better finish the discussion in the car.