He sat sucking at his cold pipe and indulging in hopeless conjectures as to the source of so much wealth, and, with a sudden quickening of the pulse, wondered whether it had all been spent.  His mind wandered from Selina to Mr. Joseph Tasker, and almost imperceptibly the absurdities of which young men in love could be capable occurred to him.  He remembered the extravagances of his own youth, and bethinking himself of the sums he had squandered on the future Mrs. Vickers—­sums which increased with the compound interest of repetition—­came to the conclusion that Mr. Tasker had been more foolish still.

It seemed the only possible explanation.  His eye brightened, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he crossed to the tap and washed his face.

“If he can’t lend a trifle to the man what’s going to be his father-in-law,” he said, cheerfully, as he polished his face on a roller-towel, “I shall tell ’im he can’t have Selina, that’s all.  I’ll go and see ’im afore she gets any more out of him.”

He walked blithely up the road, and, after shaking off one or two inquirers whose curiosity was almost proof against insult, made his way to Dialstone Lane.  In an unobtrusive fashion he glided round to the back, and, opening the kitchen door, bestowed a beaming smile upon the startled Joseph.

“Busy, my lad?” he inquired.

“What d’ye want?” asked Mr. Tasker, whose face was flushed with cooking.

Mr. Vickers opened the door a little wider, and, stepping inside, closed it softly behind him and dropped into a chair.

“Don’t be alarmed, my lad,” he said, benevolently.  “Selina’s all right.”

“What d’ye want?” repeated Mr. Tasker.  “Who told you to come round here?”

Mr. Vickers looked at him in reproachful surprise.

“I suppose a father can come round to see his future son-in-law?” he said, with some dignity.  “I don’t want to do no interrupting of your work, Joseph, but I couldn’t ’elp just stepping round to tell you how nice they all looked.  Where you got the money from I can’t think.”

“Have you gone dotty, or what?” demanded Mr. Tasker, who was busy wiping out a saucepan.  “Who looked nice?”

Mr. Vickers shook his head at him and smiled waggishly.

“Ah! who?” he said, with much enjoyment.  “I tell you it did my father’s ’art good to see ’em all dressed up like that; and when I thought of its all being owing to you, sit down at home in comfort with a pipe instead of coming to thank you for it I could not.  Not if you was to have paid me I couldn’t.”

“Look ’ere,” said Mr. Tasker, putting the saucepan down with a bang, “if you can’t talk plain, common English you’d better get out.  I don’t want you ‘ere at all as a matter o’ fact, but to have you sitting there shaking your silly ‘ead and talking a pack o’ nonsense is more than I can stand.”

Mr. Vickers gazed at him in perplexity.  “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t been giving my Selina money to buy new clothes for the young’uns?” he demanded, sharply.  “Do you mean to tell me that Selina didn’t get money out of you to buy herself and ’er mother and all of ’em—­ except me—­a new rig-out from top to toe?”