"That will not do!" and there was a ring of purpose in the Beauty's voice that made the old banker's heart beat quicker, and made him keenly attentive. She repeated: "That will not do! He may not go to America, or he may not remain here. He may be captured, or he may be killed. He may go to Aldershot to-morrow, despite all your plans. You know he intends to go. But I--I shall have risked everything, whether you win or lose, and at your bidding. Oh, no, my dear Mr. Bugbee, it will not do at all." "What do you want, then?" asked the old man. "I want the money now, and I want just double the sum you have named." "You cannot have--" "Then I shall go home;" and Mrs. Carey rose and began to arrange her cloak, but keeping her eyes on old Bugbee's face. Both were playing for the same stake, though only one knew it. Mrs. Carey read the old banker's purpose, but Bugbee had no idea that she had any outlook beyond the purchase money--twenty instead of ten thousand pounds. He was secretly not displeased at the demand, which seemed an indication of her sincerity. "You shall have the money," he said, having pretended to consider. "I shall write a check now." "I want the money; I do not want a check." And she remained standing. Old Bugbee smiled as he went out. In a few minutes he returned, and finding her still prepared to go, took the cloak from her, and placed in her hand twenty crisp Bank of England notes. The entrance of the tall flunkey prevented Mrs. Carey from speaking her pleasure, but she looked it at the banker. "You are wanted, sir," said the erect flunkey. Old Bugbee hurriedly left the room, and as soon as the door had closed, Mrs. Oswald Carey ran to a large mirror, where she smiled at herself, and concealed her treasure in her dress. Then she went into the rooms which the old banker had said were hers; and some minutes later, when the banker returned and she came toward him, he smiled approval at the few supreme touches that had made her beauty positively radiant. Her dress was cut low and square, and a soft gauze of exquisite texture covered her bosom. This had been concealed throughout the evening by a skilful arrangement of rich lace. There was a single red rose in her hair. "You are to present a petition," old Bugbee said, as if giving instructions. "Have you thought of it?" "Trust me," she said, smilingly. "I am ready." Leaning on the arm of the King's banker, Mrs. Carey ascended the wide stairs and on the first floor entered a small parlor. Through an open door she saw, in a great room beyond, three men, two of whom were bowing obsequiously, as if taking their leave. The third person was the King. Mrs. Oswald Carey smiled inwardly as she took in the points of this extraordinary figure, which was so like, yet so absurdly unlike, the prints with which all the world was familiar.