g worse happens. With another six weeks like the last, this
will not be at all possible. We shall have the cup of dishonour thrust
between our teeth. That will be the end of everything."

M. Fromentin finished in tremulous, grave tones. After looking with
blurred eyes for a moment into Thorpe's face, he bowed his head, and
softly swayed the knees upon which his thin, dark hands maintained their
clutch. Not even the revelation of hair quite white at the roots, unduly
widening the track of parting on the top of his dyed head, could rob
this movement of its mournful dignity.

Thorpe, after a moment's pause, took a pencil and paper from the desk,
and made a calculation. He bit his lips and frowned at the sight of
these figures, and set down some others, which seemed to please him no
more. Then, with a sudden gesture as of impatience, he rose to his feet.

"How much is that sister's marriage portion you spoke of?" he asked,
rather brusquely.

The French gentleman had also risen. He looked with an air of
astonishment at his questioner, and then hardened his face. "I apologize
for mentioning it," he said, with brevity. "One does not speak of family
affairs."

"I asked you how much it was," pursued Thorpe, in a masterful tone. "A
man doesn't want to rob a girl of her marriage portion."

"I think I must not answer you," the other replied, hesitatingly. "It
was the fault of my emotion to introduce the subject. Pray leave the
young lady out of account."

"Then I've nothing more to say," Thorpe declared, and seated himself
again with superfluous energy. He scowled for a little at the disorder
of his desk, and then flung forth an angry explanation. "If you evade
fair questions like that, how can you expect that I will go out of my
way to help you?"

"Oh, permit me, Mr. Thorpe"--the Marquis intervened soothingly--"I think
you misapprehend. My friend, I am sure, wished to evade nothing. He
had the idea that he was at fault in--in alluding to a purely domestic
matter as--as a--what shall I say?--as a plea for your consideration."
He turned to the old banker. "You will not refuse to mention the sum to
me, will you, my friend?"

M. Fromentin shrugged his shoulders. "It is ten thousand pounds," he
replied, almost curtly.

Thorpe was seemingly mollified. "Very well, then," he said. "I will sell
you 2,000 shares at ten pounds."

The others exchanged a wondering look.

"Monsieur," the banker stammered--"I see your meaning. You