"She has gone over to Barnstaple with her mother. I’m expecting them back at any moment. Won’t they be delighted?" He chuckled gleefully, and produced the precious card containing the Mauritius set. And with a quiet smile on his face Charles Hewson watched him from the depths of an arm-chair. What a child he was: what a charming, lovable child! "There: the complete set again." In triumph he held up the card for Hewson’s inspection, and at that moment Mrs. Crossley and the girl came through the window. The good news poured out in a torrent, while Hewson stood almost forgotten in the background. Ten thousand pounds—two thousand five hundred shares—capital doubled in a month—and the stamp. The old man brandished the cheque in his excitement, and, at length, Mrs. Crossley turned to Hewson with a smile. "We seem to have entertained an angel unawares," and her eyes were a little misty. "Thank you, Mr. Hewson." "No need to thank me, Mrs. Crossley," he laughed. "These things just happen." He glanced at the girl, who had so far said nothing. She was staring at him steadily, and there was no answering smile on her face. "Did you say two thousand five hundred shares, daddy?" Her voice was quite expressionless, as she turned to her father. "That’s it, little girl," he cried. "Sold at over four pounds a share. Now you’ll be able to have some more frocks!" He kissed her lovingly, and followed his wife from the room, still chuckling and rubbing his hands together. "Would you explain, please, Mr. Hewson?" said the girl, in a flat, dead voice as the door closed. "Explain, Miss Crossley! How do you mean? Your father acquired some shares a little while ago—two thousand five hundred, as he told you—which have just been sold at rather over four pounds a share. Hence the stamp—and a cheque for ten thousand." "I went into the bank at Barnstaple this afternoon," said the girl, dully, "and I happened to speak to the cashier. He told me who you were. You’re a multi-millionaire, aren’t you?" Charles Hewson shrugged his shoulders. "I’m afraid I am," he laughed. "Is that what you want me to explain?" "Don’t laugh, please," said the girl, quietly. "I said that you’d been good enough to do some business for us—something to do with Rio Lopez shares. He said, ’Good heavens! Miss Crossley, surely Mr. Hewson hasn’t put you into Rio Lopez?’ I said, ’Why not—aren’t they good shares?’ You see, I didn’t know what the business was you were doing. He said, ’Good! Why the blessed things aren’t worth much more than the paper they’re written on. Standing about four shillings, I think.’ And now you tell me you’ve sold two thousand five hundred of them at over four pounds." Slim and erect she stood there facing him. "I don’t know anything about business: but I’m not a fool. So will you please explain?"