rve it, for
evidently he was quite well satisfied with a single state, however
deplorable it might come to be. Penelope was being enmeshed by unfair
means, and it was hard to keep still, but there was nothing that I could
do.

Now my father lifted his chin clear of the high points of his collar.
"Penelope," he began, "you are fortunate--very fortunate--in having such
an uncle. Mr. Blight is a prominent man, and I might say"--glancing
apologetically at the guest--"a rich man." Then, meeting no
contradiction, he added--"a very rich man, who can give you such
advantages as would be far beyond my means, even were you my daughter."

"I don't want advantages," said Penelope, hardly above a whisper, and for
want of a better resting-place she dropped her head on her uncle's
shoulder and burst into tears.

"There--there--there--" cried Mr. Blight, patting her clumsily on the
back. Had she been a full-grown woman, he could hardly have been more
embarrassed, yet he was pleased that she clung to him thus, for he was
smiling. "I'll not give you any advantages you don't want--I promise
you. I just wish to make you happy. What's the use of my working all my
life, piling up money, capturing the steel trade, adding mills and mills
to my plants, if I have no one to look after. There--there--there--now,
child, don't cry. Won't you come with your poor, lonely, old uncle?"

Even to my prejudiced mind, he was playing his part well, for this
awkward kindness touched Penelope at last. She did not reply, nor did
she demur, but she clung closer to him in silence. I saw my danger and
hers, and ran to him and grasped his knees.

"Oh, Mr. Blight, don't take her away!" I cried. "I promised the
Professor I'd look after her. I promised----"

"Dav-id!" exclaimed my father, and he grasped my arm and began to draw me
away.

My fear of him even could not restrain me, and I resisted, digging my
fingers into the knees, clutching the folds of the trousers where Mr.
Blight had so carefully arranged them to prevent them bagging. He
intervened, as much, I think, to save his immaculate clothes as me from
being torn asunder.

"Dav-id!" cried my father.

"Mr. Blight--Mr. Blight--don't take her away!" I pleaded.

Mr. Blight began to laugh. "Judge--Judge--release him," he said, and
freeing me from the paternal grasp, he drew me toward him. When he had
ironed out the wrinkled knees with his hand, he patted me on the head.
"You are a good