"Ackworth's only a gunner chap," muttered Ferdinand, in dismay. "You had much better marry Jerce. He could help me, you know."
"With more money, I suppose."
"Well, not exactly that," confessed Ferdy, with an engaging air of candour, "though I shouldn't mind asking him for a fiver, if I were hard up, which I generally am. But when I become a doctor, Jerce could retire and hand over his patients to me, you know. Oh, there are lots of ways in which he could be useful to me, if you are nice to him. If you ain't, he may cut up rough, and Jerce isn't pleasant when he's in a rage, I can tell you."
"Oh!" said Clarice, contemptuously, "so to please you, I am to marry a man old enough to be my father."
"He's only fifty-five, and rich, and he'll have a title soon."
"So will Anthony, if it comes to that. His father is a baronet."
"A poor baronet," sneered Ferdy, with emphasis. "I'll have two thousand a year of my own when I am twenty-five," said the girl, ignoring the speech, "and Anthony has his pay and an allowance from his father. We will be able to live very comfortably on what we can get. Besides, Uncle Henry likes Anthony, and is delighted that I should marry him. As to Dr. Jerce--" she hesitated.
"What about him?" murmured Baird, nervously.
"I'll inform him of my engagement, when he comes down again. Also, I'll ask him about this row, as you call it, and request him to refuse you more money."
"You'll ruin me," gasped Ferdinand, on whose forehead the drops of perspiration were standing thickly.