Norman dropped heavily into his desk chair and rumpled his hair into
disorder. He muttered something--the head clerk thought it was an oath.

"I'd marry her," Tetlow went on, "if I knew she was simply using me in
the coldest, most calculating way. My only fear is that I shan't be able
to get her--that she won't marry me."

Norman sneered. "That's not likely," he said.

"No, it isn't," admitted Tetlow. "They--the Hallowells--are nice
people--of as good family as there is. But they're poor--very poor.
There's only her father and herself. The old man is a scientist--spends
most of his time at things that won't pay a cent--utterly impractical. A
gentleman--an able man, if a little cracked--at least he seemed so to me
who don't know much about scientific matters. But getting poorer
steadily. So I think she will accept me."

A gloomy, angry frown, like a black shadow, passed across Norman's face
and disappeared. "You'd marry her--on those terms?" he sneered.

"Of course I _hope_ for better terms----"

Norman sprang up, strode to the window and turned his back.

"But I'm prepared for the worst. The fact is, she treats me as if she
didn't care a rap for the honor of my showing her attention."

"A trick, Billy. An old trick."