"Yes, very fine," Mr. Agnew agreed, walking to the window. He was the most silent person Mr. Forde had ever encountered. He wore his hair parted down the middle, he used scent, his hands were very small and white, his clothes came from a West-end tailor, and he had married the daughter of some country magnate. Altogether, every one liked him at the board, because he did not interfere, because he was a gentleman, and because, as one of his fellow-directors said, "He is a HASS. If you want my opinion of him, that's what he is--a HASS." And so nobody feared and no one cultivated him, and he moaned about the premises at various hours, asking unconnected questions, looking at the books in a desultory sort of way, tolerated at the wharf as a simpleton might have been, and seeing much more than any one gave him credit for. One of the questions he asked Mr. Forde quietly and in a corner on that especial day related to the estate Mr. Swanland was liquidating. "About Mortomley now," he said confidentially. "I am sorry to tell you, sir, I have been entirely deceived in that blackguard," answered Mr. Forde. "I trusted him as I would my own brother, and he has run away with I should be sorry to say what amount of money; but we shall catch him yet I hope," added Mr. Forde; "and Swanland says there will be a capital dividend. But one does not know who is honest, one does not, indeed. I shall never advise giving another man time." "I really do not think I should were I you," said Mr. Agnew. "It makes matters unpleasant if things go wrong." "Aye, that it does," said Mr. Forde, "though that would not matter much if all my directors were such Zanies as you," he added mentally. For it was a curious fact that Mr. Forde conscientiously believed if he could only be rid of the interference of his directors for a month, or obtain an entirely new set whom he could direct as he pleased, fashioned perhaps upon the model of Mr. Agnew, he should be able to make such play with the resources of the Chemical Company, that he might raise it to the pinnacle of commercial success. Beyond keeping his situation he had really very little good for himself, notwithstanding his man[oe]uvring, notwithstanding the risks he had run, the almost maddening anxieties in which he had managed to entangle himself. Heaven knows the game had not been worth the candle, but then, when a man begins a game, he cannot tell the end; and when the game is ended, it is too late to fret about the cost. If ever an essentially round person had the misfortune to be placed in a square hole, that person was Mr. Forde; and not all his loud talk and vehement self-exertion could fill the vacant corners or give him any real sense of security in his position. Nevertheless, to that position he held on as a man might cling to the last to a sinking vessel. So long as he could keep his head above water at St. Vedast Wharf, there was hope that some friendly ship might rescue and bear him off to safety.