“My lord,” he said, when they were alone, “I want to ask your lordship’s acceptance of these papers.”

The earl understood them at a glance.  Kimberley had bought his debts.

“I ask you to take them now,” Kimberley went on, “before I say another word.”

He rose, walked to the fire, and dropped the papers on the smouldering coal.  The earl seized the papers and rescued them, soiled but unsinged.

“Kimberley,” he said, “I dare not lay myself under such an obligation to any man alive.”

“They are yours, my lord,” replied Kimberley.  “I shall never touch them again.  You’re under no obligation to me, my lord.  But”—­he blushed and stammered—­“I want to ask you for the hand of Lady Ella.”

It took Windgall a full minute to pull himself together.  He had schooled himself to the trembling hope that Alice might be chosen; but Ella!  “Forgive me,” he began, “I was unprepared—­I was not altogether unprepared—­” Then he lapsed into silence.

“I will submit your proposal to my daughter,” he said after a time, “but—­I am powerless—­altogether powerless.”

Kimberley went home in a tremor of nervous anxiety, and Windgall sent for his daughter.

“I want you to understand, my dear,” he began nervously, “that you are free to act just as you will.  Mr. Kimberley gave these into my hands this morning”—­showing her the papers.  “He gave them freely, as a gift.  If I could accept them I should be free from the nightmare of debt.  But in the same breath with that unconditional gift, he asked me for your hand in marriage.”

She kept silence.

“You know our miserable necessities, Ella,” he pleaded.  “But I can’t force your inclinations in a matter like this, my dear.”

She ran to him, and threw her arms about his neck.

“If it depends upon me to end your troubles, my dear, they are ended already.”

“Shall I,” he asked lamely, “make Kimberley happy?”

She answered simply, “Yes.”

Kimberley came to luncheon next day.  Lady Ella gave him a hand like marble, and he kissed it.  Her father, anxious to preserve a seeming satisfaction, put his arm about her waist and kissed her.  Her cheek was like ice and her whole figure trembled.

It was a dull, dreadful meal to all three who sat at table, and the millionaire’s heart was the heaviest and the sorest.

If Ella suffered, she had the consolation, so dear to the nobler sort of women, that she was a sacrifice.  If Windgall suffered, he had a solid compensation locked in the drawers of his library table.  But Kimberley had no consolation, and knew only that he was expected somehow to be happy, and was, in spite of his prosperous wooing, more miserable than he had ever been before.

As time went on, Kimberley grew no happier.  The gulf between Lady Ella and himself had not been bridged by their betrothal.  She was always courteous to him, but always cold.  She had accepted him, and yet——­