Mr. Whedell would have been delighted with one word of approval (even a qualified one) from his daughter, but she would not, or could not speak it.

“You listen attentively, my darling.  I am glad to see it.  This plan worked so well with the butcher, that I shall try it on with the upholsterer, the baker, the grocer, the tailor, and the rest of my long list of creditors.  I shall stake all on the 1st of May.  To save us from a grand explosion, and to obtain a roof for your head and mine on the 1st of May, you must marry immediately.”

Miss Clementina Whedell, like many other people, had an unsuspected strength of character which only a great occasion could call out.  “It is perfectly atrocious,” said she, at length, “and I am making a grave sacrifice of my happiness; but I suppose I must do it.  Are you sure this Chiffield is rich?”

“Now, you are my own dear daughter!” said Mr. Whedell, tossing his double eyeglass up and catching it, as was his custom when exulting.  “Your question is a prudent one, and worthy of you.  I am happy to inform you that Chiffield is worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Clementina smiled faintly, though she tried to look like a martyr.

“I learn this from the tax rolls.  When Chiffield first began to call here, and showed a profound interest in my conversation, I knew that he was after you, and I thought it best to look into his resources.  The tax rolls, which are the best possible evidence, show that he has ten lots in Harlem, with a cottage tenement on each of them, and several acres now rented to German gardeners in the Twelfth Ward.  These are rated in a lump at seventy-five thousand dollars, which is a low estimate.  So much for the real estate.  Now the personal property of Upjack, Chiffield & Co. is valued on the same tax rolls (which always understate it) at three hundred thousand dollars.  Suppose Chiffield to own a one-fourth interest only, and there you have the item of seventy-five thousand dollars more.  Grand total, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  A nearer figure would probably be two hundred thousand dollars; but I will not build castles in the air for you.  Chiffield is only forty—­which is, in fact, young.  He is healthy and energetic.  The firm are making money.  He will yet be a millionnaire.  Confess, now, that I have chosen wisely for you.”

Here another decisive pull at the door bell.  Mr. Whedell answered it in person.  Returning, he merely said, giving his double eyeglass a fillip, “The furniture man.  Have fixed him for the 1st of May.  So far, the plan works well.”

“But are you sure, pa,” asked the discreet Clementina, “that Mr. Chiffield will offer himself?”

“Positive; because he has always been so very attentive to me.  When men flatter, and study the hobbies of the father, they are after the daughter in earnest.  Mr. Chiffield’s very figure—­the cut of his jib, so to speak—­is that of a marrying man.  Only you must give him some little encouragement.  Not keep him at a distance, as you have hitherto done.”