"Why 'old' Tiplady, dear? He is younger than I am," said Lady Cleeve, with a faint smile. "His business is excellent and superior, as you know; one in which, if you join him, you may rise to eminence. Mr. Tiplady seemed to doubt whether twelve hundred pounds was a sufficient sum to induce him to take you into partnership. And of course it seems ridiculously small compared with the advantages. But I suppose he thinks your connections would go for something--and he is too well off for money to be an object with him. At first you would take but a small share." Philip shrugged his shoulders and whistled under his breath. "We can talk of that another time," he said. "How can I thank you enough, mother mine, for this wonderful gift? You are a veritable fairy queen." In truth, he could not think where so much money had come from. Twelve hundred pounds! He knew the extent of his mother's income and what proportion of it, of late years, had found its way into his own pocket; but he did not know that his mother, in view of some such contingency as the present one, had begun to save and pinch and put away a few pounds now and again even before her husband's death--many years before. The magic of compound interest had done the rest. Philip Cleeve carried a light heart with him that morning as he set out for the office, and the twenty-five pounds given him by his mother. He had not only got out of his present difficulty easily and without trouble, but in a few short days he would be a capitalist on his own account; he would be one of those favoured mortals, a man with a balance at his banker's, and a cheque-book of his own in his pocket. He could hardly believe in the reality of his good fortune. As for handing over _in toto_ to Mr. Tiplady the sum that was coming thus unexpectedly into his possession--it was a matter that required consideration, very grave consideration indeed. But he would have plenty of time to think about that afterwards. As he crossed the market-place, he stopped to look in the window of Thompson, the jeweller. There was a gold hunting-watch lying in it that he had often admired. In a few days, should he be so minded, he might make it his own. And that pretty signet ring. The price of it was only five guineas, a mere bagatelle to a man with twelve hundred pounds. Hitherto he had never worn a ring, but other young men wore such things, and there was no reason now why he should not do the same. A minute or two later he passed his tailor. "Good-morning, Dobson," he said with a smile. "I shall look you up in a day or two."