"Yes, do," said Madge, in a beseeching tone, touching his hand lightly. "I don't see so much of you that I can let you off with half-an-hour's conversation."
Brian seemed to be making a violent effort.
"Very well," he said, in a low voice; "I will stay."
"And now," said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down, "the important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see me about? Your station?"
"No!" answered Brian, leaning against the verandah post, while Madge slipped her hand through his arm, "I have sold it."
"Sold it!" echoed Frettlby, aghast. "What for?"
"I felt restless, and wanted a change."
"Ah! a rolling stone," said the millionaire, shaking his head, "gathers no moss, you know."
"Stones don't roll on their own accord," replied Brian, in a gloomy tone. "They are impelled by a force over which they have no control."
"Oh, indeed!" said the millionaire, in a joking tone. "And may I ask what is your propelling force?"
Brian looked at the old man's face with such a steady gaze that the latter's eyes dropped after an uneasy attempt to return it.
"Well," he said, impatiently, looking at the two tall young people standing before him. "What do you want to see me about?"
"Madge has agreed to marry me at once, and I want your consent."
"Impossible!" said Frettlby, curtly.
"There is no such word as impossible," retorted Brian, coolly, thinking of the famous remark in Richelieu. "Why should you refuse? I am rich now."
"Pshaw!" said Frettlby, rising impatiently. "It's not money I'm thinking about. I've got enough for both of you; but I cannot live without Madge."
"Then come with us," said his daughter, kissing him.
Her lover, however, did not second the invitation, but stood moodily twisting his tawny mustache, and staring out into the garden in an absent sort of manner.
"What do you say, Fitzgerald?" said Frettlby, who was eyeing him keenly.
"Oh, delighted of course," answered Brian confusedly.
