He removed the three notes, and replaced the drawer.
"Honor of the Dreevers!" he added, pocketing the money.
Molly was horrified.
"But, Lord Dreever!" she cried. "You can't! You musn't! You can't be going, really, to take that money! It's stealing! It isn't yours! You must put it back."
His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her.
"That," he said, "is where you make error! Mine! Old boy gave them to me."
"Gave them to you? Then, why did you break open the drawer?"
"Old boy took them back again—when he found out about letter."
"Then, they don't belong to you."
"Yes. Error! They do. Moral right."
Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever's type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man, his lordship was a negligible quantity. He did not count. But as a willful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly.
She spoke soothingly.
"But, Lord Dreever,—" she began.
"Call me Spennie," he urged. "We're pals. You said so—on stairs. Everybody calls me Spennie—even Uncle Thomas. I'm going to pull his