“No, really, Ginger, I know you would do anything you could, but this is just something I must worry through by myself. When do you go down to this place?” “I was thinking of popping down this afternoon, just to take a look round.” “Let me know what train you're making and I'll come and see you off.” “That's ripping of you. Right ho. Well, so long.” “So long,” said Sally. Mrs. Fillmore, who had been sitting in that state of suspended animation which comes upon people who are present at a telephone conversation which has nothing to do with themselves, came to life as Sally replaced the receiver. “Sally,” she said, “I think we ought to have a talk now about what you're going to do.” Sally was not feeling equal to any discussion of the future. All she asked of the world at the moment was to be left alone. “Oh, that's all right. I shall manage. You ought to be worrying about Fillmore.” “Fillmore's got me to look after him,” said Gladys, with quiet determination. “You're the one that's on my mind. I lay awake all last night thinking about you. As far as I can make out from Fillmore, you've still a few thousand dollars left. Well, as it happens, I can put you on to a really good thing. I know a girl...” “I'm afraid,” interrupted Sally, “all the rest of my money, what there is of it, is tied up.” “You can't get hold of it?” “No.” “But listen,” said Mrs. Fillmore, urgently. “This is a really good thing. This girl I know started an interior decorating business some time ago and is pulling in the money in handfuls. But she wants more capital, and she's willing to let go of a third of the business to anyone who'll put in a few thousand. She won't have any difficulty getting it, but I 'phoned her this morning to hold off till I'd heard from you. Honestly, Sally, it's the chance of a lifetime. It would put you right on easy street. Isn't there really any way you could get your money out of this other thing and take on this deal?” “There really isn't. I'm awfully obliged to you, Gladys dear, but it's impossible.” “Well,” said Mrs. Fillmore, prodding the carpet energetically with her parasol, “I don't know what you've gone into, but, unless they've given you a share in the Mint or something, you'll be losing by not making the switch. You're sure you can't do it?” “I really can't.” Mrs. Fillmore rose, plainly disappointed. “Well, you know best, of course. Gosh! What a muddle everything is. Sally,” she said, suddenly stopping at the door, “you're not going to hate poor old Fillmore over this, are you?” “Why, of course not. The whole thing was just bad luck.” “He's worried stiff about it.” “Well, give him my love, and tell him not to be so silly.” Mrs. Fillmore crossed the room and kissed Sally impulsively. “You're an angel,” she said. “I wish there were more like you. But I guess they've lost the pattern. Well, I'll go back and tell Fillmore that. It'll relieve him.”