'Ah--Mary!' Joe chuckled. 'I'll tell you something I didn't tell Eddy. It wasn't entirely through carelessness that I posted those letters in the wrong envelopes. In fact, to be absolutely frank, it wasn't through carelessness at all. There's an old gentleman in Pittsburgh by the name of John Longwood, who occasionally is good enough to inform me of some of his intended doings on the market a day or so before the rest of the world knows them, and Eddy has always shown a strong desire to get early information too. Do you remember my telling you that your predecessor at the office left a little abruptly? There was a reason. I engaged her as a confidential secretary, and she overdid it. She confided in Eddy. From the look on your face as I came in I gathered that he had just been proposing that you should perform a similar act of Christian charity. Had he?' Mary clenched her hands. 'It's this awful New York!' she cried. 'Eddy was never like that in Dunsterville.' 'Dunsterville does not offer quite the same scope,' said Joe. 'New York changes everything,' Mary returned. 'It has changed Eddy--it has changed you.' He bent towards her and lowered his voice. 'Not altogether,' he said. 'I'm just the same in one way. I've tried to pretend I had altered, but it's no use. I give it up. I'm still just the same poor fool who used to hang round staring at you in Dunsterville.' A waiter was approaching the table with the air, which waiters cultivate, of just happening by chance to be going in that direction. Joe leaned farther forward, speaking quickly. 'And for whom,' he said, 'you didn't care a single, solitary snap of your fingers, Mary.' She looked up at him. The waiter hovered, poising for his swoop. Suddenly she smiled. 'New York has changed me too, Joe,' she said. 'Mary!' he cried. 'Ze pill, sare,' observed the waiter. Joe turned. 'Ze what!' he exclaimed. 'Well, I'm hanged! Eddy's gone off and left me to pay for his lunch! That man's a wonder! When it comes to brain-work, he's in a class by himself.' He paused. 'But I have the luck,' he said. THE TUPPENNY MILLIONAIRE In the crowd that strolled on the Promenade des Etrangers, enjoying the morning sunshine, there were some who had come to Roville for their health, others who wished to avoid the rigours of the English spring, and many more who liked the place because it was cheap and close to Monte Carlo. None of these motives had brought George Albert Balmer. He was there because, three weeks before, Harold Flower had called him a vegetable.