Better anything than that." Then I grew practical.

"Father's consent ?" "MY father's?
IS it likely?
He expects me to marry into some distinguished English family." I hummed a moment.

"Well, out with it!" I exclaimed, pointing my cigar at him.
He leaned back in his chair and told me the whole story.

A pretty girl; golden hair; introduced to her by a friend; nice, simple little thing; mind and heart above the irregular stage on to which she had been driven by poverty alone; father dead; mother in reduced circumstances.

"To keep the home together, poor Sissie decided--" "Precisely so," I murmured, knocking off my ash.