It was a nerve-shaking vision that rose before him, and for a moment he could not hide his disorder. At any rate, he could not hide it from two jealous eyes. Clement saw and condemned—not fully understanding all that this meant to the other or the sudden strain which it put upon him. A moment and Arthur was himself again, and his first words recovered for him the elder man’s confidence. They were practical. “How much—I mean, what extra amount of reserve,” he asked, “would make us safe?” “Just so,” and in the banker’s eyes there shone a gleam of relief. “Well, if we had twelve thousand pounds, in addition to our existing assets, I think—nay, I am confident that that would place us out of danger.” “Twelve thousand pounds.” “Yes. It is not a large sum. But it might make all the difference if it came to a pinch.” “In cash?” “In gold, or Bank paper. Or in such securities as could be realized even in a crisis. Twelve thousand added to our reserve—I think I may say with confidence that with that we could meet any run that could be made upon us.” “There is no doubt that we are solvent, sir?” “You should know that as well as I do.” “We could realize the twelve thousand eventually?” “Of course, or we should not be solvent without it.” For once Ovington spoke a little impatiently. “Then could we not,” Arthur asked, “by laying our accounts before our London agents obtain the necessary help, sir?” “If we were the only bank likely to be in peril, of course we could. And even as it is, you are so far right that I had already determined to do that. It is the obvious course, and my bag is being packed in the house—I shall go to town by the afternoon coach. And now,” rising to his feet, “we have been together long enough—we must be careful to cause no suspicion. Do you, Clement, see Massy, the wine-merchant to-day, and tell him that I will take, to lay down, the ten dozen of ’20 port that he offered me. And ask the two Welshes to dine with me on Friday—I shall return on Thursday. And get some oysters from Hamar’s—two barrels—and have one or two people to dine while I am away. And, cheerful faces, boys—and still tongues. And now go. I must put into shape the accounts that I shall need in town.” He dismissed them with calmness, but he did not at once fall to work upon the papers. His serenity was that of the commander who, on the eve of battle, reviews the issues of the morrow, and habituated to the chances of war, knows that he may be defeated, but makes his dispositions, folds his cloak about him, and lies down to sleep. But under the cloak of the commander, and behind the mask that deceives those about him, is still the man, with the man’s hopes and fears, and cares and anxieties, which habit has rendered tolerable, and pride enables him to veil. But they are there. They are there.