The money-lender pursed up his lips and twisted a pen in his fingers for a few moments. "Well, Sir Matthew," he said at last, "I'll give you this chance. If it does not come off your commission is mine. You'll have to sell out." "And I will, Barclay. But there's no fear. The game's won, sir. After a long siege the lady has at last surrendered." "A young and pretty woman, eh, Sir Matthew?" "Well--er--not too young," said the great dragoon. "I don't care for bread-and-butter misses." "Drelincourt, sure enough," said Barclay to himself, as he wrote out the customary form on a bill stamp. "Well, let the old fool marry him. He'll make her pay for it pretty sharply, I'll be bound. I shall get my money back, and he'll save his commission, which will go for future loans." "There, Sir Matthew, sign that, please," he said aloud. "Barclay, you're a gentleman. I'm a made man, and you shall have all the other bills taken up." He scratched his name across the bill, passed it back, and Barclay counted out some notes and gave them in exchange. "That's your sort," cried Sir Matthew, counting the notes. "Why, Barclay, the bill was for a hundred. Here are only notes for sixty." "Quite right, Sir Matthew: the other is for the discount." "Oh, but--" "My dear Sir Matthew, if you are dissatisfied, pray give me the notes, and I'll tear up the bill. You forget the risk. Those are my terms." "Oh, but, Barclay." "What's he making you smart, Matt?" cried Sir Harry, joining them. "Just his way." "I've offered to cancel the bill, if Sir Matthew likes," said Barclay. "Have you got any money at all, Matt?" "Yes, some, but--" "Hang it! Come along then, man; we've no time to lose. Come on and chance it." Sir Harry took his friend's arm, and hurried him out, and Barclay was nodding his head thoughtfully as the door closed, but only for another to open, and Mrs Barclay to enter and sit down, making the entries of his two transactions as a matter of course. "Old woman," said Barclay quietly. "Jo-si-ah!" she said, turning to him quickly, and laying her hand upon his. "I try to think Claire Denville a good girl." "I'm sure she is," cried Mrs Barclay. "Oh, Josiah, why do you talk like that?" "Because things look ugly, old lady, and I shall be very sorry if you've been deceived." "Oh, but, my dear," panted Mrs Barclay, "I'm sure." "One can't be sure of anything with a pretty well-flattered woman. You know what you said about that row at Denville's, when Sir Harry Payne was found with Claire that night." "Yes: I said it was May, and I'm sure of it." "You're not sure, old lady--you can't be. Suppose it was Claire after all." "I say it was May. Claire Denville couldn't do such a thing." "I don't know. I hope not," said Barclay. "I want to believe in her. Well, Joseph?" "Two chaises to-night, sir, Moggridge says. Sir Harry Payne and Sir Matthew Bray." "That will do. Well, old lady?"