d, "papa would do it; but he would insist on
reasons. My reasons involve another, Mr. Hemingway, and so it would not
be honorable for me to give them."

"And yet," said the banker, twinkling, "your reasons would tempt me to
accommodate you with the loan you ask for far more than your
collateral."

"Oh," she said, "you are a business man. I could give you reasons, and
be sure they would go no further--even if you thought them funny. But if
papa heard them, and thought them funny, as he would, he would play the
sieve. I don't want this money for myself, Mr. Hemingway."

"They never do," said he.

She laughed.

"I wish to lend it in turn," she said, "to a person who has been
reckless, and who is in trouble, but in whom I believe.... But perhaps,"
she went on, "the person, who is very proud, will take offence at my
offer of help.... In which case, Mr. Hemingway, I should return you the
money to-morrow."

"This person--" he began, twinkling.

"Oh," she said, "I couldn't bear to be teased. The person is a young
gentleman. Any interest that I take in him is a business interest, pure
and simple. I believe that, tided over his present difficulties, he will
steady down and become a credit to his sex. Can I say more than that?"
She smiled drolly.

"Men who are a credit to their sex," said Mr. Hemingway, "are not rare,
but young gentlemen----"

"This one," said she, "has in him the makings of a man. Just now he is
discouraged."

"Is he taking anything for it?" asked Mr. Hemingway with some sarcasm.

"Buckets," said Miss Tennant simply.

"Was it cards?" he asked.

"Cards, and betting--and the hopeless optimism of youth," said she.

"And you wish to lend him five thousand dollars, and your interest in
him is platonic?"

"Nothing so ardent," said she demurely. "I wish him to pay his debts, to
give me his word that he will neither drink nor gamble until he has paid
back the debt to me, and I shall suggest that he go out to one of those
big Western States and become a man."

"If anybody," said Mr. Hemingway with gallantry, "could lead a young
gentleman to so sweeping a reform, it would be yourself."

"There is no sequence of generations," said Miss Tennant, "long enough
to eradicate a drop of Irish blood."

Mr. Hemingway swept the jewels together and wrapped them in the
tissue-paper in which she had brought them.

"Are you going to put them in your safe--or return them to me?" she
asked plaintively.

Mr. Hemi