Squire Dudley’s flood was at its tide then, he fancied; and yet he felt nervous about launching his boat upon it. He was longing to make money, hungering and thirsting for a chance of bettering his position, and yet he stood irresolute waiting for some chance to decide his purpose, for some hand beside his own to unloose his barque, and set it floating over the weaves of success, to the shores of fortune. “How much money would be sufficient in the first instance?” he inquired for the second time during that interview. “Oh! a hundred would start the advertising,” said Mr. Black; “that hundred would bring in some of the shares; but between you and me, Dudley, what with clerks and one devilment and another in the other companies, even a hundred pounds is a sum I could not at the instant command. I had to pay, as I tell you, five hundred cash to Stewart, and a similar sum to Crossenham. Well, you know, a few hundreds here and a few hundreds there make a hole in a man’s banking account, if he be not as rich as Miss Coutts. Then I have given a lot of bills falling due at different dates for Crossenham’s lease; and, although I think my other ventures may give me money enough to meet those before they are presented, still I must be prepared for the worst. Altogether—but who are those riding up the lane? Raidsford and Lord Kemms, as I live! Raidsford, no doubt, trying to put my lord against the company. Ah! it is no use, my boy; you won’t checkmate me so easily as all that comes to. Now, what the deuce is his lordship coming to say?” and then ensued the interview at which the reader has already been present. “I am in with you now, Black,” said Arthur Dudley, when, their talk finished, they retraced their steps towards the house. “Only so far as Nellie goes,” answered Mr. Black, reassuringly; “even that shall be but a loan, if you like;” but Mr. Black knew better than this. He knew Arthur had, as he mentally phrased it, “tasted blood,” and that, having done so, he would never recede from the undertaking to which he had put his hand. CHAPTER XI. NELLIE. It was after dinner in Mr. Compton Raidsford’s house. Host and guest had finished their wine, and sat with coffee before them, silent. Lord Kemms was thinking about Mr. Black and that gentleman’s proposals; Mr. Compton Raidsford was thinking, not merely about Mr. Black, but also about Lord Kemms, and wondering how that nobleman would decide. If there were one thing the owner of Moorlands conceived ought to be put down with a strong hand and a stretched-out arm, that thing was bubble companies. Even legitimate companies he disliked and distrusted. A self-made man, he naturally regarded with suspicion the growth of any commercial system likely to render success dependent more upon capital than individual ability and exertion.