After a few moments of reflection she spoke freely. "My daughter must marry money, and neither you, Mr. Hench, nor Mr. Bracken have any money. I will not allow you to pay your addresses to her. Nor will Zara receive them. She is a good girl and loves her old mother."
"Well, Hench," said Spruce, when this speech was ended, "now you know. Are you not heart-broken?"
"No!" retorted Hench sharply. "Nor am I defeated. Zara will decide."
"She will decide what I order her to decide!" cried Madame Alpenny furiously. "And my daughter is not for you, Mr. Hench!"
"I should prefer to discuss that question privately," said the young man in a stiff, haughty way; "there is no need for Mr. Spruce to be present."
"Oh, don't say that," chimed in the Nut reproachfully; "I may be able to help you, old fellow. You don't go the right way to work."
"It's my own way," snapped Hench restlessly, and objecting to interference.
"Then it's the wrong way," snapped Spruce in his turn. "Remember that Madame Alpenny thinks you are a mystery. Use that to help you."
"In what way?" Hench opened his brown eyes.
"Mysterious persons are always interesting, and if Madame here finds that you may turn out to be some one great, who knows but what she may change her mind?"
"Are you something great?" asked the lady, addressing Hench quickly.
"No. I am nobody, and will remain nobody. Why should you think that I am, what you call, a mystery?"
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