“I suppose the kind of work that is proposed for you would leave you no time for art?”

“Pooh! of course not.  Who was ever Philistine and artist at the same time?”

“Well, it’s a bad job.  I wish I could help you.  I wish I had money.

“If you had, I shouldn’t benefit by it,” was the exasperated reply.

“Will you please to do what you were going to do at first, and tell Barbara I wish to speak to her?”

“Yes, I will.”

His temper grew worse.  In his weakness he really had thought it likely that Madeline would suggest something hopeful.  Men of his stamp constantly entertain unreasonable expectations, and are angry when the unreason is forced upon their consciousness.

“One word before you go, please,” said Madeline, standing up and speaking with emphasis.  “After what you said just now, this is, of course, our last interview of this kind.  When we meet again—­and I think it would be gentlemanly in you to go and live somewhere else—­you are Mr. Marsh, and I, if you please, am Miss Denyer.”

“I will bear it in mind.”

“Thank you.”  He still lingered near the door.  “Be good enough to leave me.”

He made an effort and left the room.  When the door had closed, Madeline heaved a deep sigh, and was for some minutes in a brown, if not a black, study.  Then she shivered a little, sighed again, and again took up the volume she had been reading.  It was Daudet’s “Les Femmes d’Artistes.”

Not long after, all the Denyers were reunited in their sitting-room.  Mrs. Denyer had brought up an open letter.

“From your father again,” she said, addressing the girls conjointly.  “I am sure he wears me out.  This is worse than the last.  ’The fact of the matter is, I must warn you very seriously that I can’t supply you with as much as I have been doing.  I repeat that I am serious this time.  It’s a horrible bore, and a good deal worse than a bore.  If I could keep your remittances the same by doing on less myself, I would, but there’s no possibility of that.  I shall be in Alexandria in ten days, and perhaps Colossi will have some money for me, but I can’t count on it.  Things have gone deuced badly, and are likely to go even worse, as far as I can see.  Do think about getting less expensive quarters.  I wish to heaven poor little Mad could get married!  Hasn’t Marsh any prospects yet?’”

“That’s all at an end,” remarked Madeline, interrupting.  “We’ve just come to an understanding.”

Mrs. Denyer stared.

“You’ve broken off?”

“Mr. Marsh’s allowance is to be stopped.  His prospects are worse than ever.  What’s the good of keeping up our engagement?”

There was a confused colloquy between all four.  Barbara shrugged her fair shoulders; Zillah looked very gravely and pitifully at Madeline.  Madeline herself seemed the least concerned.

“I won’t have this!” cried Mrs. Denyer, finally.  “His step-father is willing to give him a position in business, and he must accept it; then the marriage can be soon.”