‘Take my advice,’ said Crewe weightily, ‘and hook on to an established business. Of course, you can change the name if you like; and there’d have to be alterations, and painting up, to give a new look.’ ‘It’s risky, dealing with strangers. How if they got hold of my idea, and then refused to take me in?’ ‘Well now, look here. After all, I’ll make a bargain with you, old chap. If I can introduce you to the right people, and get you safely started, will you give me all your advertising, on the usual commission?’ ‘You mean, give it to Bullock and Freeman?’ ‘No, I don’t. It’s a secret just yet, but I’m going to start for myself.’ Beatrice was silent. They exchanged a look in the gloom, and Crewe nodded, in confirmation of his announcement. ‘How much have you got?’ Miss. French inquired carelessly. ‘Not much. Most of the capital is here.’ He touched his forehead. ‘Same as with you.’ The young woman glanced at him again, and said in a lower voice: ‘You’d have had more by now, if--’ Crewe waited, puffing his cigar, but she did not finish. ‘Maybe,’ he replied impartially. ‘Maybe not.’ ‘Don’t think I’m sorry,’ Beatrice hastened to add. ‘It was an idea, like any other.’ ‘Not half a bad idea. But there were obstacles.’ After a pause, Beatrice inquired: ‘Do you still think the same about women with money?’ ‘Just the same,’ Crewe replied at once, though with less than his usual directness; the question seemed to make him meditative. ‘Just the same. Every man looks at it in his own way, of course. I’m not the sort of chap to knuckle under to my wife; and there isn’t one woman in a thousand, if she gave her husband a start, could help reminding him of it. It’s the wrong way about. Let women be as independent as they like as long as they’re not married. I never think the worse of them, whatever they do that’s honest. But a wife must play second fiddle, and think her husband a small god almighty--that’s my way of looking at the question.’ Beatrice laughed scornfully. ‘All right. We shall see.--When do you start business?’ ‘This side Christmas. End of September, perhaps.’ ‘You think to snatch a good deal from B. & F., I daresay?’ Crewe nodded and smiled. ‘Then you’ll look after this affair for me?’ said Beatrice, with a return to the tone of strict business. ‘Without loss of time. You shall be advised of progress. Of course I must debit you with exes.’ ‘All right. Mind you charge for all the penny stamps.’ ‘Every one--don’t you forget it.’ He stood up, tilted forward on his toes, and stretched himself. ‘I’ll be trotting homewards. It’ll be time for by-by when I get to Kennington.’ CHAPTER 3