“Well, then, I appear to be a poor man, don’t I?  And remember,” he added, hastily, “that, with reference to household expenses, I am poor; but, as a matter of fact”—­and here he sunk his voice, and glanced suspiciously round—­“I am worth at this moment nearly one hundred and fifty thousand pounds in hard cash.”

“That is six thousand pounds a year at four per cent.,” commented Angela, without a moment’s hesitation.  “Then I really think you might put a flue into the old greenhouse, and allow a shilling a week to Mrs. Jakes’ mother.”

“Curse Mrs. Jakes’ mother!  Nobody but a woman would have interrupted with such nonsense.  Listen.  You must have heard how I was disinherited on account of my marriage with your mother, and the Isleworth estates left to your cousin George, and how, with a refined ingenuity, he was forbidden to bequeath them back to me or to my children.  But mark this, he is not forbidden to sell them to me; no doubt the old man never dreamt that I should have the money to buy them; but, you see, I have almost enough.”

“How did you get so much money?”

“Get it!  First, I took the gold plate my grandfather bought, and sold it.  I had no right to do it, but I could not afford to have so much capital lying idle.  It fetched nearly five thousand pounds.  With this I speculated successfully.  In two years I had eighteen thousand.  The eighteen thousand I invested in a fourth share in a coal-mine, when money was scarce and coals cheap.  Coals rose enormously just then, and in five years’ time I sold my share to the co-holders for eighty-two thousand, in addition to twenty-one thousand received by way of interest.  Since then I have not speculated, for fear my luck should desert me.  I have simply allowed the money to accumulate on mortgage and other investments, and bided my time, for I have sworn to have those estates back before I die.  It is for this cause that I have toiled, and thought, and screwed, and been cut by the whole neighbourhood for twenty years; but now I think that, with your help, my time is coming.”

“With my help.  What is it that you wish me to do?”

“Listen,” answered her father, nervously tapping his pencil on the account-book before him.  “George is not very fond of Isleworth—­in fact, he rather dislikes it; but, like all the Caresfoots, he does not care about parting with landed property, and, though we appear to be good friends, he hates me too much ever to consent, under ordinary circumstances, to sell it to me.  It is to you I look to overcome that objection.”

“I!  How?”

“You are a woman and you ask me how you should get the blind side of a man!”

“I do not in the least understand you.”

Philip smiled incredulously.

“Then I suppose I must explain.  If ever you take the trouble to look at yourself in the glass, you will probably see that Nature has been very kind to you in the matter of good looks; nor are you by any means deficient in brains.  Your cousin George is very fond of a pretty woman, and, to be plain, what I want you to do is to make use of your advantages to get him under your thumb and persuade him into selling the property.”