"I think you ought to," said Margaret, primly. Nevertheless, she had
brightened considerably.
"Of course," Mr. Woods continued with a fine colour, "I can't take the
money. That's absurd."
"Is it?" she queried, idly. "Now, I wonder how you're going to help
yourself?"
"Simplest thing in the world," he assured her. "You see this match,
don't you, Peggy? Well, now you're going to give me that paper I see
in that bag-thing at your waist, and I'm going to burn it till it's
all nice, soft, feathery ashes that can't ever be probated. And then