lee how this room was to be her husband's workroom,
where he would paint pictures for the admiration of all the world,
saying that he would not (nor would she have him) renounce his calling
to lead the idle life of a country gentleman.

"If the world admire my pictures, the world shall pay to have them,"
says he, with a smile; then turning to her he adds very tenderly: "I
will owe all my happiness to you, sweetheart; yet guard my independence
in more material matters. No mercenary question shall ever cast
suspicion on my love."

Seeing I was not wanted here, I left them to settle their prospectives,
and sought Don Sanchez, whom I found reading in a room below, seated in
a comfortable chair before a good fire of apple logs. To please me, he
shut up his book and agreed to take a stroll in the park while dinner
was a-dressing. So we clap on our hats and cloaks and set forth, talking
of indifferent matters till we are come into a fair open glade (which
sort of place the prudent Don did ever prefer to holes and corners for
secret conference), and then he told me how Moll and Mr. Godwin had
already decided they would be married in three weeks.

"Three weeks?" says I. "I would it were to be done in three days." To
which desire the Don coincides with sundry grave nods, and then tells me
how Moll would have herself cried in church, for all to know, and that
nothing may be wanting to her husband's dignity.

"After all," says I, "three weeks is no such great matter. And now,
Senor, do tell me what you think of all this."

"If you had had the ordering of your own destiny, you could not have
contrived it better," answers he. "'Tis a most excellent game, and you
cannot fail to win if" (here he pauses to blow his nose) "if the cards
are played properly."

This somehow brought Dawson into my thoughts, and I told the Don of my
visit to him, and how he did purpose to come down to see Moll; whereat
the Don, stopping short, looked at me very curiously with his eyebrows
raised, but saying nothing.

"'Tis no more than natural that a father should want to see what kind of
man is to be his daughter's husband," says I, in excuse, "and if he
_will_ come, what are we to do?"

"I know what I should do in your place, Mr. Hopkins," says he, quietly.

"Pray, Senor, what is that?"

"Squeeze all the money you can out of old Simon before he comes,"
answers he. "And it wouldn't be amiss to make Mr. Godwin party to this
business by letting him