he remaining divination, silently achieved, was quick
and happy: she should acquit herself by asking her father for the sum
required and by just passing it on to Mr. Flack. The grandeur of his
enterprise and the force of his reasoning appeared to overshadow her as
they stood there. This was a delightful simplification and it didn't for
the moment strike her as positively unnatural that her companion should
have a delicacy about appealing to Mr. Dosson directly for financial
aid, though indeed she would have been capable of thinking that odd had
she meditated on it. There was nothing simpler to Francie than the idea
of putting her hand into her father's pocket, and she felt that even
Delia would be glad to appease their persecutor by this casual gesture.
I must add unfortunately that her alarm came back to her from his look
as he replied: "Do you mean to say you don't know, after all I've done?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you've done."

"Haven't I tried--all I know--to make you like me?"

"Oh dear, I do like you!" cried Francie; "but how will that help you?"

"It will help me if you'll understand how I love you."

"Well, I won't understand!" replied the girl as she walked off.

He followed her; they went on together in silence and then he said: "Do
you mean to say you haven't found that out?"

"Oh I don't find things out--I ain't an editor!" Francie gaily quavered.

"You draw me out and then you gibe at me," Mr. Flack returned.

"I didn't draw you out. Why, couldn't you see me just strain to get
away?"

"Don't you sympathise then with my ideas?"

"Of course I do, Mr. Flack; I think your ideas splendid," said Francie,
who hadn't in the least taken them in.

"Well then why won't you work with me? Your affection, your brightness,
your faith--to say nothing of your matchless beauty--would be everything
to me."

"I'm very sorry, but I can't, I can't!" she protested.

"You could if you would, quick enough."

"Well then I won't!" And as soon as these words were spoken, as if to
mitigate something of their asperity, she made her other point. "You
must remember that I never said I would--nor anything like it; not one
little wee mite. I thought you just wanted me to speak to poppa."

"Of course I supposed you'd do that," he allowed.

"I mean about your paper."

"About my paper?"

"So as he could give you the money--to do what you want."

"Lord, you're too sweet!" George Flack cried with an illumined stare.