"Nonsense; it is of no use talking in this way to me. You never had fifteen hundred pence, let alone fifteen hundred pounds to advance to any one." "Upon mine sacred word of honour," Mr. Kleinwort was beginning, when Mr. Werner stopped him. "It is all right, Mr. Asherill," he said, "Kleinwort has advanced fifteen hundred pounds; I know how and I know why." "Is Mr. Kleinwort the petitioning creditor?" inquired Mr. Asherill of Mr. Werner. "I," interposed Mr. Kleinwort; "I, mein Gott! No! It is a pity, ach, such a pity. Such a place, such a plant, such a business! Did not I myself go down with Forde to see what was possible? Did I not say to the little lady, Mortomley's wife, 'It is a pity, such a pity to let all everything go; think what you and your friends can do, and then come to me; you shall have what you want if Bertrand Kleinwort can procure it for you.'" Mr. Asherill looked at the devoted foreigner curiously. "And what said the little lady?" he inquired. "She turned up her nose at me--what small amount of nose there was to turn--she looked at me. Soh!" And Mr. Kleinwort glanced out of the corner of his eyes, and puckered his face into a grotesque sneer. "She flounced her dress about in a pet, and said, 'Thank you very much, but we are all tired of pouring water into a sieve; and, for myself, I think bankruptcy must be heaven in comparison to the life we have been leading lately.'" "And you?" suggested Mr. Asherill. "I then made answer, 'Madame, you will not find bankruptcy so pleasant as you think.' She folded her hands and said, 'We will take our chance.'" "And what was Mortomley doing all this time?" asked Mr. Asherill. With an expressive shrug Mr. Kleinwort answered, "Ill or making believe to be ill; it all comes to the same for us." "Is the man really ill?" said Mr. Asherill, turning to Mortomley's 'friend.' "I do not know; the doctor and his wife say he is; but then doctors and wives will say anything," Mr. Werner replied impatiently. "You both, however, believe that if he had been in the way this misfortune need not have come to pass?" "Most assuredly," said Mr. Kleinwort, eagerly. "It might have been deferred, at all events," acquiesced Mr. Werner. "Mrs. Mortomley is a relation of yours by marriage, I think," suggested Mr. Asherill, addressing Mr. Werner. "By no means. My wife is a niece of Lord Darsham; Mrs. Mortomley, the daughter of a poor country clergyman. My wife knew Mrs. Mortomley when they were both young girls, and a sort of acquaintance has been kept up since." Mr. Werner spoke the preceding sentence very rapidly, and grew very red in spite of his dark complexion, as if the question and answer had embarrassed him; but Mr. Asherill seemed to take little heed of his agitation, for he turned at once to Mr. Kleinwort, remarking, "Is Forde in this, too?" "Ach, yes," returned the other; "in what is it poor Forde is not? He is so good, so kind, so easy, or what you English call in your droll way--soft."