dressed."

"But, my dear, you don't understand! You haven't realized!"

"Yes, I do. Yes, I have!"

"I've spent all your money--_your_ money!"

"I know! What does it matter?"

"What does it matter! Jill, don't you hate me?"

"As if anyone could hate an old darling like you!"

Uncle Chris threw away his cigar, and put his arms round Jill. For a
moment a dreadful fear came to her that he was going to cry. She
prayed that he wouldn't cry. It would be too awful. It would be a
memory of which she could never rid herself. She felt as though he
were someone extraordinarily young and unable to look after himself,
someone she must soothe and protect.

"Jill," said Uncle Chris, choking, "you're--you're--you're a little
warrior!"

Jill kissed him and moved away. She busied herself with some flowers,
her back turned. The tension had been relieved, and she wanted to give
him time to recover his poise. She knew him well enough to be sure
that, sooner or later, the resiliency of his nature would assert
itself. He could never remain long in the depths.

The silence had the effect of making her think more clearly than in
the first rush of pity she had been able to do. She was able now to
review the matter as it affected herself. It had not been easy to
grasp, the blunt fact that she was penniless, that all this comfort
which surrounded her was no longer her own. For an instant a kind of
panic seized her. There was a bleakness about the situation which made
one gasp. It was like icy water dashed in the face. Realization had
almost the physical pain of life returning to a numbed limb. Her hands
shook as she arranged the flowers, and she had to bite her lip to keep
herself from crying out.

She fought panic eye to eye, and beat it down. Uncle Chris, swiftly
recovering by the fireplace, never knew that the fight had taken
place. He was feeling quite jovial again now that the unpleasant
business of breaking the news was over, and was looking on the world
with the eye of a debonair gentleman-adventurer. As far as he was
concerned, he told himself, this was the best thing that could have
happened. He had been growing old and sluggish in prosperity. He
needed a fillip. The wits by which he had once lived so merrily had
been getting blunt in their easy retirement. He welcomed the
opportunity of matching them once more against the world. He was
remorseful as regarded Jill, but the optimist in him, never crushed
for long, told him th