In spite of his confidence she was ill-prepared for the proposal that followed.
It was after dinner, when the cool breezes from the Atlantic made life bearable; when the sea was bathed in moonlight and the shadowy Spanish hills bulked mistily on the ocean's rim, that Tuppy declared himself.
"Miss Boardman," he said suddenly—they were watching the sea from the terrace of the Cecil—"d'ye know I'm nearly a beggar, broke to the wide, unsympathetic world, up to my neck in debt." The attack was sudden and the girl was alarmed.
"Lord Tuppy—I'm—I'm sorry," she stammered.
"That's all right," said Tuppy easily, "don't let that worry you. But I wanted to tell you. An' there's another startlin' statement I want to make, I've been talkin' with your father."
"Have you?" faltered the girl.
"I have," said Tuppy firmly, "I asked him straight out if he was one of those millionaires that grow as thick as huckleberries in America."
For a moment only the girl suspected his motive.
"I was frank with him," said Tuppy, "so doosid frank that he nearly chucked me out of the window, but wiser councils prevailed, as dear old Milton says, an' he listened—Miss Boardman, you're not rich."
She made no reply.