There was a decision about the remark which would not be gainsaid, so the ladies, some with, some without lights, dawdled upstairs like wise and foolish virgins, calling down jokes and good-nights to the men on their way to the billiard-room, while Ned Blackborough, seizing his opportunity, waylaid Mr. Hirsch and begged for five minutes in Sir Geoffrey's den. "About the hotel," echoed Mr. Hirsch when Ned broached the subject. "_Pardon!_ But excuse me if I change my cigarette for a cigar. There is always so much to be said concerning that business." He spoke with a smile, but his face had hardened at once, and Ned, listening, could not but admire his companion's uncompromising directness. He was aware of course, he said, that the money Sir Geoffrey had invested was a loan from Lord Blackborough, and therefore he treated him, as a shareholder, a large shareholder, with absolute freedom. Well! Mr. Hirsch had found Sir Geoffrey in difficulties, and had helped him. Why? Because, having a great _penchant_ for Mrs. Tressilian, he was glad to be of use. The hotel would practically have to be rebuilt. At present its condition would disgrace a jerry-built villa near London. And they had perpetrated this inconceivable sham in full face of the Atlantic. But it was always the way when such schemes were not properly floated at first. There never was enough money to allow for the inevitable leakage. Then little men had little ways, and the methods of a tuppenny--ha' penny ring, like this had been, were simply horrible. But the site was gigantic, absolutely gigantic, and if you could only get rid of that bloated mechanic Jenkin and his gang, you could make anything of it. But they were incurably vulgar--they had wanted a gramaphone in the hall, they allowed one in the steward's room. The words reminded Ned that, as he walked up to the hotel, lost in admiration of that marvellous sea surging against the sheer cliff, he had been greeted by shrieks of laughter and the sound of a double shuffle done to the latest music hall "catch on." And he smiled. Hirsch was right. It was incurably vulgar. Who was it who said that, since nowadays he had to choose between solitude and vulgarity, he chose the former? Mr. Hirsch's cigar had actually gone out in his irritation, but he was alight again and went on. Regarding the insurance? Yes. He had made a temporary arrangement to secure his own money and Sir Geoffrey's, and a little over; you could secure anything nowadays by a high enough premium. In fact, the best thing that could happen now, if he might be excused for saying so, was--was a fresh start--without Jenkin! The hotel would practically have to be rebuilt anyhow at the end of the season. Meanwhile, regarding the electric light. It was bad--that was Jenkin again--but they were exercising extreme care, and could do no more. "But supposing," began Ned.