a bargirl, though she were the daughter of Crœsus himself."
"My dear Squire, calm yourself, I beg. As a barmaid I admit Imogene is below Denis as regards position, but as an Incan princess, why, my dear friend, she is as far superior to the Cobtrees of the Court House as the reigning house of England. Why, do you know anything—but of course you do—of the pride, the magnificence, the omnipotent splendour possessed by the Incan kings? Why, the Palace of Whitehall would compare most unfavourably with their sculleries."
"No? Really?" said the squire.
"And it's for the wealth and fortunes of Imogene that I must leave you," went on the cleric—"that is, leave you for a time, you understand? For although I shall bestow upon her certain things of value that I hold as her guardian, the bulk of her fortune has been lying idle, but now that she is growing into womanhood, it is high time I fulfilled my duties and lifted her money for her."
"Then she's your adopted child, is she?" said the squire, pushing his wig back and scratching his head.
"Well, I suppose that's how it stands in a sense," replied the Doctor. "When that rascal Clegg died he actually paid me a good sum of money to see that his daughter was provided for, and of course I've kept that money for her till she came to years of discretion. He
