‘Doesn’t he, now? Is that the case? Very old-world in his notions, isn’t he. Well, now, we don’t expect ladies to take a great deal of interest in business so I won’t trouble you with a lot of detail. Just the broad outline,’ said Mr Questing making an appropriate gesture, ‘so’s you’ll get the idea. Now, you might put it this way, you might say that your dad’s under an obligation to me.’

‘You might indeed,’ Barbara thought, as Mr Questing’s only too lucid explanation rolled on. It seemed that five years ago when he first came to Wai-ata-tapu to ease himself of lumbago, he had lent Colonel Claire a thousand pounds, at a low rate of interest taking the hotel and springs as security. Colonel Claire was behind with the interest and the principal was now due. Mr Questing clothed the bare bones of his narrative in a vestment of playful hints and nudges. He wasn’t, he said, a hard man. He didn’t want to make it too solid for the old Colonel, not he. ‘But just the same—’ Cliché followed cliche, business continued to be business, and more and more dubious grew the development of his theme until at last even poor Barbara began to understand him.

‘No!’ she cried out at last. ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t. Please don’t!’

‘Wait a bit, now. Don’t act as if I’m not making a straight offer. Don’t get me all wrong. I’m asking you to marry me, Babs.’

‘Yes, I know, but I can’t possibly. Please!’

‘Don’t run away with the idea it’s just a business deal. It’s not.’ Mr Questing’s voice actually faltered and if Barbara had been less frantically distracted she might have noticed that he had changed colour. ‘To tell you the truth I’ve fallen for you, kid,’ he continued appallingly. ‘I don’t know why, I’m sure. I like ’em snappy and kind of wise as a general rule and if you’ll pardon my candour you’re sloppy in your dress and, boy, are you simple! Maybe that’s exactly why I’ve fallen. Now don’t interrupt me. I’m not dizzy yet and I know you’re not that way about me. I don’t say I’d have asked you if I hadn’t got a big idea you’d run this joint damn well when I showed you how. I don’t say I haven’t put you on the spot where it’s going to be hard to say no. I have. I knew where I could get in the fine work, seeing how your old folks are placed, and I got it in. I’ll use it all right. But listen, little girl!’—Mr Questing on a sudden note of fervour breathed out his final cliché—‘I want you,’ he said hoarsely.