"A venture of Dormer Colville's, I think you told me--while we were having coffee. One never gets coffee hot enough in a private house, but yours was all right." "Yes," mumbled Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, behind her quick finger, busy with the veil. Beneath the sleepy lids John Turner's eyes, which were small and deep-sunken in the flesh, like the eyes of a pig, noted in passing that his client's cheeks were momentarily pink. "I hope you don't mean to suggest that there is anything unsafe in Mr. Colville as a business man?" "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Turner. "On the contrary, he is most enterprising. And I know no one who smokes a better cigar than Colville--when he can get it. And the young fellow seemed nice enough." "Which young fellow?" inquired the lady, sharply. "His young friend--the man who was with him. I think you told me, after luncheon, that Colville required the money to start his young friend in business." "Never!" laughed Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, who, if she felt momentarily uneasy, was quickly reassured. For this was one of those fortunate ladies who go through life with the comforting sense of being always cleverer than their neighbour. If the neighbour happen to be a man, and a stout one, the conviction is the stronger for those facts. "Never! I never told you that. You must have dreamt it." "Perhaps I did," admitted the banker, placidly. "I am afraid I often feel sleepy after luncheon. Perhaps I dreamt it. But I could not hand such a sum in notes to an unprotected lady, even if I can effect a sale of your securities so quickly as to have the money ready by to-morrow morning. Perhaps Colville will call for it himself." "If he is in Paris." "Every one is in Paris now," was Mr. Turner's opinion. "And if he likes to bring his young friend with him, all the better. In these uncertain times it is not fair on a man to hand to him a large sum of money in notes." He paused and jerked his thumb toward the window, which was a double one, looking down into the Rue Lafayette. "There are always people in the streets watching those who pass in and out of a bank. If a man comes out smiling, with his hand on his pocket, he is followed, and if an opportunity occurs, he is robbed. Better not have it in notes." "I know," replied Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, not troubling further to deceive one so lethargic and simple. "I know that Dormer wants it in notes." "Then let him come and fetch it." Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence rose from her chair and shook her dress into straighter folds, with the air of having accomplished a task which she had known to be difficult, but not impossible to one equipped with wit and self-confidence. "You will sell the securities, and have it all ready by ten o'clock to-morrow morning," she repeated, with a feminine insistence. "You shall have the money to-morrow morning, whether I succeed in selling for cash or not," was the reply, and John Turner concealed a yawn with imperfect success. "A loan?"