watched that glorious fluttering with quiet pride and satisfaction. He
was getting to those years when a man of action dislikes interruption of
the grooves into which his activity has fallen. He pursued his hunting,
racing, card-playing, and his very stealthy alms and services to lame
ducks of his old regiment, their families, and other unfortunates--happy
in knowing that Gyp was always as glad to be with him as he to be with
her. Hereditary gout, too, had begun to bother him.

The day that she came of age they were up in town, and he summoned her
to the room, in which he now sat by the fire recalling all these things,
to receive an account of his stewardship. He had nursed her greatly
embarrassed inheritance very carefully till it amounted to some twenty
thousand pounds. He had never told her of it--the subject was dangerous,
and, since his own means were ample, she had not wanted for anything.
When he had explained exactly what she owned, shown her how it was
invested, and told her that she must now open her own banking account,
she stood gazing at the sheets of paper, whose items she had been
supposed to understand, and her face gathered the look which meant that
she was troubled. Without lifting her eyes she asked:

"Does it all come from--him?"

He had not expected that, and flushed under his tan.

"No; eight thousand of it was your mother's."

Gyp looked at him, and said:

"Then I won't take the rest--please, Dad."