“Young Threepwood.”

“Threepwood?  Why did he want it?”

“He needed money and he was going to raise it on—­”

Mr. Peters exploded.

“And I have been kicking because Aline can’t marry him and has gone off with a regular fellow like young Emerson!  He’s a good boy—­young Emerson.  I knew his folks.  He’ll make a name for himself one of these days.  He’s got get-up in him.  And I have been waiting to shoot him because he has taken Aline away from that goggle-eyed chump up in bed there!

“Why, if she had married Threepwood I should have had grandchildren who would have sneaked my watch while I was dancing them on my knee!  There is a taint of some sort in the whole family.  Father sneaks my Cheops and sonny sneaks it from father.  What a gang!  And the best blood in England!  If that’s England’s idea of good blood give me Hoboken!  This settles it.  I was a chump ever to come to a country like this.  Property isn’t safe here.  I’m going back to America on the next boat.

“Where’s my check book?  I’m going to write you that check right away.  You’ve earned it.  Listen, young man; I don’t know what your ideas are, but if you aren’t chained to this country I’ll make it worth your while to stay on with me.  They say no one’s indispensable, but you come mighty near it.  If I had you at my elbow for a few years I’d get right back into shape.  I’m feeling better now than I have felt in years—­and you’ve only just started in on me.

“How about it?  You can call yourself what you like—­secretary or trainer, or whatever suits you best.  What you will be is the fellow who makes me take exercise and stop smoking cigars, and generally looks after me.  How do you feel about it?”

It was a proposition that appealed both to Ashe’s commercial and to his missionary instincts.  His only regret had been that, the scarab recovered, he and Mr. Peters would now, he supposed, part company.  He had not liked the idea of sending the millionaire back to the world a half-cured man.  Already he had begun to look on him in the light of a piece of creative work to which he had just set his hand.

But the thought of Joan gave him pause.  If this meant separation from Joan it was not to be considered.

“Let me think it over,” he said.

“Well, think quick!” said Mr. Peters.

* * *

It has been said by those who have been through fires, earthquakes and shipwrecks that in such times of stress the social barriers are temporarily broken down, and the spectacle may be seen of persons of the highest social standing speaking quite freely to persons who are not in society at all; and of quite nice people addressing others to whom they have never been introduced.  The news of Aline Peters’ elopement with George Emerson, carried beyond the green-baize door by Slingsby, the chauffeur, produced very much the same state of affairs in the servants’ quarters at Blandings Castle.