"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 of 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 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."