He dreaded what was still to come.
"This question of the price of the wheat," Colina went on; "we have to give him an answer or confess father is very ill." Ambrose nodded gloomily.
"Fortunately that is easy," she continued; "for he spoke about it at dinner last night.

He means to pay one-fifty." She moved toward the desk.

"I'll send a note over at once." The critical moment had arrived--even more swiftly than he feared.

He could not think clearly, for the pain he felt.
"Ah, Colina, I love you!" he cried involuntarily.
She paused and smiled over her shoulder.
"I know," she said, surprised and gentle.

"That's why you're here." "I've got to advise you honestly," he cried, "no matter what trouble it makes." "Of course," she said.