"Well, if you want my opinion," Saunders said, firmly, "I think if the woman is not appeased in some way that you and I, the directors, and all concerned--friendly depositors and everybody-will regret it. Scandal of this sort has a bad effect on business confidence. Mitchell came in just as she was leaving. Of course, he is not a great stickler on such matters, but--" "I didn't know he was in town," Mostyn said, in surprise. "Yes, they returned rather suddenly the day before yesterday. By the way, he is impatient to see you. He wouldn't mind my telling you, for that is what he wants to do. He has had a great streak of luck. You remember the big investments you advised him to make in wild timberlands in Alabama and North Georgia a few years ago? Well, your judgment was good--capital. His agent has closed out his entire holdings for a big cash sum. I don't know the exact figure, but he banked a round one hundred thousand with us yesterday, and said more was coming." Mostyn stared excitedly. "I thought it would be a good thing, but I didn't expect him to find a buyer so soon." Saunders smiled. "I know you thought so," he chuckled. "He is as happy as a school-boy. He is crazy to tell you about it. He thinks a lot of you. He swears by your judgment. In fact, he said plainly that he expected you to handle this money for him. He says he has some ideas he wants you to join him in. He sticks to it that you are the greatest financier in the South." Mostyn drew his lips tight. "He is getting childish," he said, irritably. "I have no better judgment than any one else--Delbridge, for instance, is ahead of me." "Delbridge _is_ lucky," Saunders smiled. "They say he has made another good deal in cotton." "How was that?" Mostyn shrugged his shoulders and stared, his brows lifted. "Futures. I don't know how much he is in, but I judge that it is considerable. You can always tell by his looks when things are going his way, and I have never seen him in higher feather." Mostyn suppressed a sullen groan. "That is what _they_ are doing while I am lying around here like this," he reflected. "Mitchell thinks I am a financial wonder, does he? Well, he doesn't know me; Irene doesn't know me. Dolly doesn't dream--my God, I don't know _myself!_ A few minutes ago I was sure that I would give up the world for her, and yet already I am a different man--changed--full of hell itself. I am a slave to my imagination. I don't know what I want." Then he thought of the unopened letter in his pocket. Light as it was, he could all but feel its weight against his side. They were now at the gate of Saunders's house. No one was in sight. The tall white pillars of the Colonial porch gleamed like shafts of snow in the sunlight. It was a spacious building in fine condition; even the grass of the lawn and beds of flowers were well cared for.