“‘Why?’ I wonder you, a gentleman and a soldier, you, a De Crespigney, cannot see why?” said Gloria, harping a little upon his own words of a few minutes past.
“I cannot see; but if you or any one can, I should like to be informed of the reason,” said the colonel, in the same spirit.
“Then I will tell you. Suppose it had fallen to your lot to rescue Dame Lindsay from drowning, and David Lindsay had offered you money, as much as he could afford, in payment of your services, what would you have thought? How would you have felt?”
“My dearest Gloria, the cases differ totally,” exclaimed the colonel, with a flushed brow.
“They do not differ in one essential point, uncle, and you know it, and feel it now, if you neither knew nor felt it before. I will yield to your wishes and return home with you to-day. But you must not insult my preserver by offering him any sort of reward for saving me. You may thank him, for yourself and for me; but thank him as you would thank General Stuart, or Doctor Battis, or any other gentleman of your acquaintance, had either of them rendered me the same inestimable service.”
“My dear, absurd child, I do thank him more than tongue can tell. I think the most practical way of expressing my thanks would be to send him a check for a round sum; but if you prefer that I should take off my hat to him instead, why, I will do that.”
“Yes, do that. Take off your hat to him. And, now please to go to the foot of the stairs there and call Granny Lindsay down. She will get cold if she stays up in that fireless loft any longer,” said Gloria, who had been anxious all this time on account of her old friend.
“Mrs. Lindsay, Miss de la Vera would like to see you,” said Colonel de Crespigney, from the foot of the ladder.
“Ay, sir, I will come down,” answered the dame, and she immediately descended.
“Granny Lindsay, my uncle has convinced me that I ought to return home with him. I am very sorry to leave you, but I must go!” said Gloria, gently.