“Most ‘good things’ would come to an untimely end if every one with a finger in them spread them abroad, my boy!” he observed. “Since it can’t concern you personally--if you’ve no capital--we’ll say no more about it.” A certain amount of Loring’s practice dealt with financial affairs; he was no mean authority on City matters, and there was something about his manner indescribably provocative. Julian leaned forward with a movement of irrepressible eagerness. “Is it really a good thing?” he said. He spoke with a quick, low-toned directness which put aside the fencing of the previous dialogue, and replied not to what Loring had said, but to what he had implied. Loring looked him full in the face and answered laconically and significantly: “Rather!” The hungry light was burning fiercely in Julian’s eyes, and he turned his face away from Loring and began to fidget with an ash-tray lying on the table by him. “Capital?” he said. “What do you call capital, now?” “Oh, anything between ten thousand and five-and-twenty thousand,” said Loring carelessly. There was a silence. Julian’s brain was working feverishly, and Loring was well content to let it work. At last Julian began to speak in a low, rapid tone, with the air of one who has made up his mind to frank confidence. He had intended to keep Loring at arm’s length; he had decided now to play a bolder game, and use him. “Look here, Loring,” he said, “I may as well make a clean breast of it! I have gone a bit farther than I said. You see, as I told you, my mother’s most awfully generous, and I wouldn’t let a hint of this get to her for the world; but a man doesn’t like to feel that he’s dependent on his mother for everything, don’t you know--especially if he’s thinking of marrying. You know what it is when one once begins to feel the money come in! I’ve gone on, you see--as lots of fellows do--and I’ve got a tidy little pile. Of course I’m very keen on making it more before--well, before I propose, don’t you know! And if you can give me a lift up I shall be eternally obliged.” He stopped, and Loring smoked for a minute or two in silence. At last he said slowly: “I understand! It’s natural, of course. Well, I don’t stand alone in the affair, to tell you the truth. There’s another man to be consulted. But I’ll talk the matter over with him, and if I can manage to get you in you may be sure I will. You shall have a line in a day or two, or I’ll see you again.” Loring dropped the end of his cigar into the ash-tray and rose. CHAPTER XIV The clock in Mrs. Romayne’s drawing-room chimed the half-hour--half-past four--and Mrs. Romayne glanced up as she heard it. She was alone, sitting at her writing-table answering invitations. She was looking better than she had looked on the preceding day--less haggard, and physically stronger.