"Nobody'd marry me—knowing what you know."
"Ovid," said Pansy, sharply, "there's nothing wrong with you except that—you haven't enough brains all by yourself. You need to be looked after ...and I'm going to do it."
"Looked after?"
"Ovid Nixon, do you like me well enough to marry me?"
"I—"
"Do you? Yes or no ... quick!"
"Yes."
"Then ask me," said Pansy.
Presently the three emerged into the street from the deserted offices of Mr. Peaney. Scattergood Baines held in his hands two thousand dollars in bills, representing net profit on the transaction. He regarded the money with a frown.
"Somethings got to be done to you to make you fit to tetch," he said to it.