"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"

"What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?"

She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:

"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money! Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's reddening ears.

"I say--don't! And do tell me, because--"

"I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---"

Phyllis looked up at him. "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!"

A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer: