"Yours sincerely, "BELLAMINA CHANDOS." The true state of the case was not long in finding its way to Mrs. Lepell's ears. She could not help laughing at the incident as she related it to her nephew, but she felt more sorry than ever for Verona Chandos. * * * * * It was eleven o'clock at night. The bungalow was silent, the lights were extinguished everywhere except in the office, and here we behold Mrs. Chandos and Abdul Buk face to face across a table, exceedingly grave and busy. In front of each was a large ledger, and as Mrs. Chandos read out figures and totals Abdul Buk said "Jehan, jehan," and ticked off the duplicate in pencil; occasionally Mrs. Chandos would point out discrepancies and losses, and a certain amount of argument and wrangling would ensue. "There is that widow in the Gorra bazaar; she owes me a hundred rupees." "With interest," amended Abdul. "She has only had twenty-five in her hand." (By which it will be seen that Mrs. Chandos, like Ralph Nickleby, expected to get two pence for every half-penny.) "She worked very hard, and borrowed the money to pay for her husband's funeral." "It was my money, though, and I will have it back, and the interest. _You_ know what to do," said this daughter of the horse-leech. "Then there is that girl who drowned herself in the well; I shall never get an anna from her now, and she is down in my books for two hundred rupees." "You lost nothing by _her_--she had paid the principal over and over." "My losses have been heavy this last six months. Again, there is that man who took poison." "What you call losses are trade risks, and but nothing when you take into consideration your enormous gains. No one does such business as Saloo"--he gave a sort of grunting laugh. "I paid a big sum into the Bank of Bengal in the name of your mother, as usual. Oh--ho! What a good thing it is that she leaves business to you, and thinks she has only a few hundred rupees. Bee Bee Chandos, you are a very rich woman." Here he pulled up a large bag, made of knotted twine, and poured on the table a quantity of rupees and notes. These his companion proceeded to count with eager, greedy fingers (and a celerity that was positively astonishing and indicated long habit), arranging them in piles of fifty. "Four thousand, seven hundred," she said at last. "I don't know what you call rich; I have been twenty years in the business; I have worked hard, and I pay you and your agents well." "It is a difficult, risky business," protested Abdul Buk. "I go in fear of my life of that Salwey; if I am found out, it is ruin to me; my character will be gone. If it was supposed that I was the agent of the greatly-feared Saloo, surely the very beggars would spit upon me--I would not have a friend in the world." "Money is a good friend," said Mrs. Chandos sententiously.