hat'll bring you round to Blackfriars Bridge, when
you want to go home. But there's plenty of time yet.'

So they rambled aimlessly by the great thoroughfares, and by hidden
streets of which Nancy had never heard, talking or silent as the mood
dictated. Crewe had stories to tell of this and that thriving firm, of
others struggling in obscurity or falling from high estate; to him the
streets of London were so many chapters of romance, but a romance always
of to-day, for he neither knew nor cared about historic associations.
Vast sums sounded perpetually on his lips; he glowed with envious
delight in telling of speculations that had built up great fortunes.
He knew the fabulous rents that were paid for sites that looked
insignificant; he repeated anecdotes of calls made from Somerset House
upon men of business, who had been too modest in returning the statement
of their income; he revived legends of dire financial disaster, and
of catastrophe barely averted by strange expedients. To all this Nancy
listened with only moderate interest; as often as not, she failed to
understand the details which should have excited her wonder. None the
less, she received an impression of knowledge, acuteness, power, in the
speaker; and this was decidedly pleasant.

'Here's the place where I think of starting for myself,' said Crewe, as
he paused at length before a huge building in Farringdon Street.

'This?--Can you afford such a rent?'

Her companion burst into laughter.

'I don't mean the whole building. Two or three rooms, that's all,
somewhere upstairs.'

Nancy made a jest of her mistake.

'An advertising agent doesn't want much space,' said Crewe. 'I know
a chap who's doing a pretty big business in one room, not far from
here.--Well, we've had a long walk; now you must rest a bit, and have a
cup of tea.'

'I thought you were going to propose champagne.'

'Oh--if you like--'

They went to a restaurant in Fleet Street, and sat for half an hour over
the milder beverage. Crewe talked of his projects, his prospects; and
Nancy, whom the afternoon had in truth fatigued a little, though her
mind was still excited, listened without remark.

'Well,' he said at length, leaning towards her, 'how long do you give
me?'

She looked away, and kept silence.

'Two years:--just to make a solid start; to show that something worth
talking 'about is to come?'

'I'll think about it.'

He kept his position, and gazed at her.

'I know it