“Me?  Who to?  You?” asked Nancy, blankly.

“Me!” gasped Mr. Champneys.  “Are you demented?”

“Well, then, who?” she asked, not unnaturally.  “And why?”

“The other heir.  My nephew.  Peter Champneys.  Because such is my will and intention,” said he, peremptorily and haughtily, bending his eagle-look upon her.

“What sort of a feller is he?  He ain’t got nothin’ the matter with him, has he?”

A wild desire to slap Milly’s niece came upon Chadwick Champneys at that.

“He is my nephew!” he said haughtily.  “Why on earth should he have anything the matter with him?”

It occurred to him then that it mightn’t be such an easy matter to get a high-spirited young fellow, with ideals, to take on trust this young female person with the red hair.  He felt grateful that he had exacted a promise from Peter.  The Champneyses always kept their promises.

“I’m wonderin’!” said Nancy, staring at him.  “Why are you so bent on him an’ me marryin’?  You say it’s just because you want it, but that ain’t no explanation, nor yet no reason.  After all, it’s me.  I got the right to ask why, then, ain’t I?  You can’t expect to walk in unbeknownst an’ tell a girl you want she should marry a feller she’s never laid eyes on, without bein’ asked a few questions, can you?”

He knew he must try to make it clear to her, as he had tried to make it clear to Peter.  Peter, being Peter, had presently understood.  Whether this girl would understand remained to be seen.

“I wish you to marry, because, as I have already told you, you are my wife’s niece, and Peter is my brother’s son.  I have of late years become possessed of—­well, let’s say a great deal of money, and I propose that this money shall go to my own people—­but on my own conditions.  These conditions being that it shall all be kept in the Champneys name.  It is an old name, a good name, it was once a wealthy and an honored name.  It must be made so again.  I say, it must be made so again!  There are but you two to make it so.  The boy is the last, on my side; and you’re Milly’s.  Milly must have her share in the upbuilding—­as if you were her child.  Now, do you see?”

“Good Lord! ain’t you got funny notions, though!  Who ever heard the beat?  One name’s about as good as another, seems to me.  But seein’ you’ve got the money to pay for your notions, them that’s willin’ to take your money ought to be willin’ to humor ’em.”  Nancy, in her way, had what might be called a sense of ethics.

“You agree?”

“Well, I just got to make a change, Mr. Champneys.  I can’t stand this place no more.  If I was to say ‘No’ to you, an’ stay here, an’ have time to think it over, down in that sizzlin’ kitchen, with her squallin’ at me all day, I’d end up in a padded cell.  If I was to leave just so, I’d maybe get me a job in a shop at less than I could live on honest.  You see?”

He nodded, and she went on somberly: