“The new firm will go ahead—I can answer for that—and I will then be free to openly meet Mrs. Alida Hathorn, on her chosen battle ground of Vanity Fair. “You are to do nothing but to simply wait at the Waldorf—and come to me daily at the ‘Circassia.’ “As for Hathorn—a strict avoidance of him—that is my one condition.” “The quarrel—but—the cold oblivion of the grave! Your friendship is dead to him!” “And—you are never to mention their names in society. Leave them to me.” “I swear it—by this,” solemnly said Vreeland, as he kissed the knot of ribbon blue. The glistening-eyed woman saw that it had lain on his heart. She rose and left him to study the strange public call for a collaborator in that fierce fight for “the unearned increment” which was to make his fortune—by a woman’s fondly trusted faith. He read an advertisement which made a huge increase a week later in Hiram Endicott’s daily mail. For the _Herald_, in special display, in its financial page, printed the following—in an artful display: “To Capitalists and Stock Brokers.” “_Wanted._—A gentleman of the highest integrity, who controls one of the largest speculative stock businesses in and around New York City, desires to meet an associate with $200,000 cash, with view of establishing New York Stock Exchange house, or would make partnership arrangement with a New York Stock Exchange firm who desire to increase their business. References given and required. Principals only. Address, for one week, “H. E., _Herald_ Downtown.” Mrs. Elaine Willoughby had been a month entrenched in her apartments at the “Circassia,” and the last summer roses had drifted down over the silent walks of Lakemere, before the astute Vreeland had made a surface acquaintance with Mr. Horton Wyman, whose name later headed the sober-looking black and gold sign on a spacious Broad Street office, reading, “Wyman & Vreeland, Bankers and Brokers!” For the new firm had been bravely launched by Alynton and his lovely ally. All that Vreeland knew was that Mr. Horton Wyman was a near relative of Senator David Alynton, and that he had just given up the cashiership of a respectable bank to enter the New York Stock Exchange. The adventurer, lost in admiration of Elaine Willoughby’s executive ability, never knew of that _tête-à-tête_ dinner, and the long council of the Queen of the Street with Alynton and Judge Endicott. Out of fifty applications, Mr. Horton Wyman had been selected. As Senator Alynton pithily said, “It’s my man and my money against your man and your money.” The Senator himself had answered the call for his relative. He did know that Judge Endicott’s nephew, Noel, was the cashier of the new firm, now in full blast, and that he alone received the orders of the Queen of the Street from the private wires in the Hanover Bank Building.