se full in his head, and, as good luck (he thought) would have it,
found Phoebe, who had been restless all night with anxiety, and had got
up early, once more walking up and down the long garden-path, reflecting
over all that had happened, and wondering as to what might happen still.
What a piece of luck it was! He was accustomed to have fortune on his
side, and it seemed natural to him. He went up to her with scarcely a
pause for the usual salutations, and plunged at once into what he had to
say.

"Miss Phoebe, I am glad to find you alone. I wanted a word with you," he
said, "about the affair of last night. Why shouldn't you and I, the only
two sensible ones in the business, settle it between ourselves? Old
Tozer is an old ass, begging your pardon for saying so, and my son is a
fool--"

"I do not agree to either," said Phoebe gravely, "but never mind, I will
certainly hear what you have to say."

"What I have to say is this. I will never consent to let my son Clarence
marry you." Here he was interrupted by a serious little bow of assent
from Phoebe, which disconcerted and angered him strangely. "This being
the case," he resumed more hotly, "don't you think we'd better come to
terms, you and me? You are too sensible a girl, I'll be bound, to marry
a man without a penny, which is what he would be. He would be properly
made an end of, Miss Phoebe, if he found out, after all his bravado last
night, that you were the one to cast him off after all."

"He cannot find that out," said Phoebe with a smile; "unfortunately even
if I could have done it under brighter circumstances my mouth is closed
now. I desert him now, when he is in trouble! Of course you do not know
me, so you are excused for thinking so, Mr. Copperhead."

The rich man stared. She was speaking a language which he did not
understand. "Look here, Miss Phoebe," he said, "let's understand each
other. High horses don't answer with me. As for deserting him when he's
in trouble, if you'll give him up--or desert him, as you call it--he
need never be in trouble a