“Listen,” said the millionaire, impressively.  “My name is Pilkins, and I’m worth several million dollars.  I happen to have in my pockets about $800 or $900 in cash.  Don’t you think you are drawing it rather fine when you decline to accept as much of it as will make you and the young lady comfortable at least for the night?”

“I can’t say, sir, that I do think so,” said Clayton of Roanoke County.  “I’ve been raised to look at such things differently.  But I’m mightily obliged to you, just the same.”

“Then you force me to say good night,” said the millionaire.

Twice that day had his money been scorned by simple ones to whom his dollars had appeared as but tin tobacco-tags.  He was no worshipper of the actual minted coin or stamped paper, but he had always believed in its almost unlimited power to purchase.

Pilkins walked away rapidly, and then turned abruptly and returned to the bench where the young couple sat.  He took off his hat and began to speak.  The girl looked at him with the same sprightly, glowing interest that she had been giving to the lights and statuary and sky-reaching buildings that made the old square seem so far away from Bedford County.

“Mr.—­er—­Roanoke,” said Pilkins, “I admire your—­your indepen—­your idiocy so much that I’m going to appeal to your chivalry.  I believe that’s what you Southerners call it when you keep a lady sitting outdoors on a bench on a cold night just to keep your old, out-of-date pride going.  Now, I’ve a friend—­a lady—­whom I have known all my life—­who lives a few blocks from here—­with her parents and sisters and aunts, and all that kind of endorsement, of course.  I am sure this lady would be happy and pleased to put up—­that is, to have Miss—­er—­Bedford give her the pleasure of having her as a guest for the night.  Don’t you think, Mr. Roanoke, of—­er—­Virginia, that you could unbend your prejudices that far?”

Clayton of Roanoke rose and held out his hand.

“Old man,” he said, “Miss Bedford will be much pleased to accept the hospitality of the lady you refer to.”

He formally introduced Mr. Pilkins to Miss Bedford.  The girl looked at him sweetly and comfortably.  “It’s a lovely evening, Mr. Pilkins—­don’t you think so?” she said slowly.

Pilkins conducted them to the crumbly red brick house of the Von der Ruyslings.  His card brought Alice downstairs wondering.  The runaways were sent into the drawing-room, while Pilkins told Alice all about it in the hall.

“Of course, I will take her in,” said Alice.  “Haven’t those Southern girls a thoroughbred air?  Of course, she will stay here.  You will look after Mr. Clayton, of course.”

“Will I?” said Pilkins, delightedly.  “Oh yes, I’ll look after him!  As a citizen of New York, and therefore a part owner of its public parks, I’m going to extend to him the hospitality of Madison Square to-night.  He’s going to sit there on a bench till morning.  There’s no use arguing with him.  Isn’t he wonderful?  I’m glad you’ll look after the little lady, Alice.  I tell you those Babes in the Wood made my—­that is, er—­made Wall Street and the Bank of England look like penny arcades.”