more about money than a child,
and I have just had quite a large amount paid to me in cash. I only wish
we could get Beatrice to share some of this, Mr. Tavernake."

He made no remark. To all appearance, he had never heard of her sister.
She came and sat down by his side again.

"Will you have me for a partner, Mr. Tavernake?" she whispered.

Then, indeed, for a moment, the impassivity of his features relaxed. He
was frankly amazed.

"You cannot mean this," he declared. "You know nothing about the
value of the property, nothing about the affair at all. It is quite
impossible."

"I know what you have told me," she said. "Is not that enough? You are
sure that it will make money and you have just told me how foolish I am
to keep so much money in my bank. Very well, then, I give it to you to
invest. You must pay me quite a good deal of interest."

"But you know nothing about me," he protested, "nothing about the
property."

"One must trust somebody," she replied. "Why shouldn't I trust you?"

He was nonplussed. This woman seemed to have an answer for everything.
Besides, when once he had got over the unexpectedness of the thing, it
was, of course, a wonderful stroke of fortune for him. Then came a whole
rush of thoughts, a glow which he thrust back sternly. It would mean
seeing her often; it would mean coming here to her rooms; it would mean,
perhaps, that she might come to look upon him as a friend. He set his
teeth hard. This was folly!

"Have you any idea about terms?" he inquired.

She laughed softly.

"My dear friend," she said, "why do you ask me such a question? You know
quite well that I am not competent to discuss terms with you. Listen.
You are engaged in a speculation to carry out which you want the loan of
twelve thousand pounds. Draw up a paper in which you state what my share
will be of the profits, what interest I shall get for my money, and give
particulars of the property. Then I will take it to my solicitor, if you
insist upon it, although I am willing to accept what you think is fair."

"You must take it to a solicitor, of course," he answered, thoughtfully.
"I may as well tell you at once, however, that he will probably advise
you against investing it in such a way."

"That will make no difference at all," she declared. "Solicitors hate
all investments, I know, except their horrid mortgages. There are only
two conditions that I shall make."

"What are they?" he asked.

"The first is t