He furtively felt in his pocket, to make sure that the cheque was there still. He had an uneasy feeling, after all those agitating occurrences, that he might have lost it. He longed for the moment of Weevil’s departure, that he might throw it into her lap!

“What did you think of my poor old Dad, Mr. Solent?” enquired the visitor, munching his cake with relish. Wolf was conscious of a ridiculously insistent wonder as to when it was that Gerda had run over to Pimpernel’s for this luxury. “He’s not much to look at when he’s at meals, or to hear from either,” went on this pious offspring; “but he takes notice after supper. Last night, for instance, if you’ll excuse my mentioning it, he began jawing away like a dissenting minister about my having no purpose in life. What’s your purpose in life, Gerdie?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Bob,” replied the girl.