"Lord Creagh told me you were just like that. ’Confide in Mrs. Brand, tell her everything you want; the more direct you are the more she’ll like you,’ he said. Now, I’m a plain man, Mrs. Brand, and have never been used to women and their ways. I deal with facts, not illusions." He seated himself more comfortably in his chair, obviously preparing for an intimate talk. "I’m commercial through and through, you know; if I want a thing I like to pay its proper price. Now, I want something from you, and you’re not the sort of woman to take any price at all. That annoys me, because I haven’t the faintest shadow of a claim upon your interest." Evelyn was silent for a moment. "Women aren’t very active powers in the world as a rule," she said; "I’m a dabbler. I paint little pictures, I write little stories and do fancy work, for money—that’s all. I think I could have been a good mother, but I’ve never had a child. There’s nothing in this world of my very own I can shape and mould as I should love to shape it. I suppose I like to play with lives as other women do with stocks and shares. It’s just another form of speculation. So when men who can do things—there aren’t many of them!—are good enough to trust me, to confide in me even the tiniest inkling of their plans and hopes, I’m very proud." She waited. "I’ve always had one big ambition. I’ve wanted to do something to help on, even in the smallest way, some one who’ll do big things; to show that I believed in him before the world had the least knowledge of what he was capable. I think you re going to give me my opportunity—I know what you want, of course; any one would, who saw you with Mr. Farquharson. You want every scrap of help for him that you can get. Now, mind, I don’t really see where I come in, for he’s a man who won’t need even you for long. He stands alone; he’d always like to, wouldn’t he?" "You’re right; he’d always like to," Calvert admitted slowly. There was some sadness in his tone. Evelyn put out her hand. "It’s a good trait, isn’t it? It hurts other people, of course. I think no one gets on in the world without hurting some one else in the process. But there are times when one thanks God that one was just the person who was called upon to make that special sacrifice which was counted on and taken, so very simply. Not that I see there should be any sacrifice in Mr. Farquharson’s case. He is your _protégé_. Everything he does will tell for you. He came to you with a handful of irons, and you gave him fuel and lit the fire, and you’ll be even prouder of the fact some day than you are now. Well, if you can let me put in even one tiny piece of wood to keep that fire alight, you may guess how delighted I shall be." Calvert gave a sigh of relief.