"Dolly? Dolly?" repeated the old man. "Yes, yes--what did you say? What did you say, Marion? Dolly Chilton? Silly child. Dolly Chilton has been dead these twenty years." "What does he mean?" asked Dolly in a whisper. Simon Darche turned upon her rather suddenly. "Oh yes, I remember," he said. "You are the little girl who used to talk about Darwin, and the soul, and monkeys without tails, and steam engines, when you were seven years old. Why, my dear child, I know you very well indeed. How long have you been married?" "I am not married," answered the young girl, suppressing a smile. "Why not?" inquired Mr. Darche with startling directness. "But then--oh, yes! I am very sorry, my dear. I did not mean to allude to it. I went to poor Chilton's funeral." Just then, Stubbs, the butler, entered again, bearing this time a note for Mrs. Darche. While she glanced at the contents he waited near the door in obedience to a gesture from her. Old Mr. Darche immediately went up to him, and with hearty cordiality seized and shook his reluctant hand. "Happy to meet you, old fellow!" he cried. "That is all right. Now just sit down here and we will go through the question in five minutes." "Beg pardon, sir," said the impassive butler. It was not the first time that his master had taken him for an old friend. "Eh, what!" cried Simon Darche. "Calling me 'sir'? Did you come here to quarrel with me, old man? Oh, I see! You are laughing. Well come along. This business will not keep. The ladies will not mind if we go to work, I daresay." And forthwith he dragged Stubbs to a table and forced him into a chair, talking to him all the time. Dolly was startled and grasped Marion's arm. "What is it?" she asked under her breath. "Oh, Marion, what is it? Is he quite mad?" Mrs. Darche answered her only by a warning look, and then, turning away, seemed to hesitate a moment. Stubbs was suffering acutely, submitting to sit on the edge of the chair to which his master had pushed him, merely because no means of escape suggested itself to his mechanical intelligence. "Why can you not sit down comfortably?" asked Mr. Darche, with a show of temper. "You are not in a hurry, I know. Oh I see, you are cold. Well, warm yourself. Cold morning. It will be warm enough in Wall Street to-morrow, if we put this thing through. Now just let me explain the position to you. I tell you we are stronger than anybody thinks. Yes sir. I do not see any limit to what we may do." Marion took a flower from one of the vases and went up to the old gentleman. "Just let me put this rose in your coat, before you go to work." Mr. Darche turned towards her as she spoke, and his attention was diverted. With a serio-comic expression of devout thankfulness, Stubbs rose and noiselessly glided from the room. "Thank you, thank you," said the old gentleman, and as he bent to smell the blossom, his head dropped forward rather helplessly. "I was always fond of flowers."