“Emanuel Pick. I wasn’t fond of Emanuel myself,” with a sharp glance at Braith’s eyes, “but I supposed you knew something in his favor, or you would not have left—er—the lady in his charge.” Braith was silent. “I understood him to be your agent,” said the little man, cautiously. “He was not.” “Oh!” A long silence followed, during which Mr Bulfinch sought and found an explanation of several things. After a while he said musingly: “I should like to meet Mr Pick again.” “Why should _you_ want to meet him?” “I wish to wring his nose two hundred times, one for each franc I lent him.” “How was that?” said Braith, absently. “It was this way. He came to me and told me what I have repeated to you, and that you desired madame to go on at once and wait for you in Vienna, which you expected to reach in a few days after her arrival. That you had bought tickets—one first class for madame, two second class for him and for her maid—before you left, and had told her you had placed plenty of money for the other expenses in her dressing case. But this morning, on looking for the money, none could be found. Madame was sure it had not been stolen. She thought you must have meant to put it there, and forgotten afterwards. If she only had a few francs, just to last as far as Naples! Madame was well known to the bankers on the Santa Lucia there! etc. Well, I’m not such an ass that I didn’t first see madame and get her to confirm his statement. But when she did confirm it, with such a charming laugh—she was very pretty—I thought she was a lady and your wife—” In the midst of his bitterness, Braith could not help smiling at the thought of Nina with a maid and a courier. He remembered the tiny apartment in the Latin Quarter which she had been glad to occupy with him until conducted by her courier into finer ones. He made a gesture of disgust, and his face burned with the shame of a proud man who has received an affront from an inferior—and who knows it to be his own fault. “I can at least have the satisfaction of setting that right,” he said, holding two notes toward the little _Mirror_ man, “and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity.” Bulfinch drew back and stammered, “You don’t think I spoke for that! You don’t think I’d have spoken at all if I had known—” “I do not. And I’m very glad you did not know, for it gives me a chance to clear myself. You must have thought me strangely forgetful, Mr Bulfinch, when the money was not repaid in due time.” “I—I didn’t relish the manner in which you met me just now, I confess, but I’m very much ashamed of myself. I am indeed.” “Shake hands,” said Braith, with one of his rare smiles. The notes were left in Mr Bulfinch’s fingers, and as he thrust them hastily out of sight, as if he truly was ashamed, he said, blinking up at Braith, “Do you—er—would you—may I offer you a glass of whiskey?” adding hastily, “I don’t drink myself.” “Why, yes,” said Braith, “I don’t mind, but I won’t drink all alone.”