Crombie perceived that escape was impossible, and, in a few words, the reason of his presence there was made known to the old gentleman.

Littimer examined the visitor swiftly, from head to foot—­especially the foot.  He advanced to the fire, toasted first one and then the other of the damp gaiters he had on? and at length broke out, in a tone bordering on reproach:  “So you are the owner, are you?  Then my sympathy has all been wasted!  Why, I supposed, from the condition of these machines that I’ve been lugging around with me half the day that you must be in the greatest distress.  And, lo and behold!  I find you a young fellow in prime health, spruce and trim, doing well, I should say, and perfectly happy.”

“I can’t help that, sir,” retorted Crombie, nettled, but speaking with respect.  “I confess I was very happy until a moment or two ago.”

“What do you mean by that?” the other demanded, with half-yielding pugnacity.  “Till I came in—­is that the idea?”

“Oh, papa!” said Banche, softly.

“Well, honey-bee, what’s the matter?” her father asked, trying to be gruff.  “Can’t I say what I like, here?” But he surrendered at once by adding:  “You may be sure I don’t want to offend any one.  Sit down, Mr. Crombie, and wait just a few moments while I go into the other room and rejuvenate my hoofs, so to speak—­for I fear I’ve made a donkey of myself.”

He disappeared into an adjoining room with Blanche, who there informed him artlessly of Crombie’s consideration and attentiveness in restoring the errant shoes.  When they came back Littimer insisted upon having the young man remain a little longer and drink a glass of port with him.  Before taking his departure, however, Crombie, who felt free to speak since Blanche had retired, made a brief statement in satisfaction of conscience.

“You hinted,” he said, “that you judged me to be doing well.  I don’t want to leave you with a false impression.  The truth is, I am not doing well.  I have no money to speak of, and to-day I lost the position on which I depended.”

“You don’t tell me!” Littimer’s newly roused charitable impulses came to the fore.  “Why, now you begin to be really interesting, Mr. Crombie.”

“Thanks,” said Crombie; “I’m not ambitious to interest people in that way, I told you only because I thought it fair.”

“Don’t be touchy, my dear sir,” answered the banker.  “I meant what I said.  Come, let’s see what can be done.  Have you any scheme in view?”

“Yes, I have,” said Crombie, with decision.

Littimer gave a grunt.  He was afraid of people with schemes, and was disappointed with the young man’s want of helplessness.  Dependence would have been an easier thing to deal with.

“Well,” said he, “we must talk it over.  Come and see me at the bank to-morrow.  You know the address.”