Jack went into his pocket for a checkbook and a fountain pen. He wrote for a few seconds, tore the check from the stub, and handed it to Joyce.
That young woman gasped.
"Why—you don't really mean—it's for twenty-eight thousand two hundred and fourteen dollars," she cried.
"And seventeen cents. Please don't forget that," he added.
"But—what on earth do you mean?"
Jack was looking at Moya, and she at him with shining eyes in which joy swam.
"It's a little thank offering, Miss Seldon."
"Because you were rescued from the mine, I suppose. Still...."
"Because I'm engaged to be married to the best woman in the world," he corrected.
Joyce whirled upon Moya with instant divination. "You little wretch, and you never told me."