"Now you have found some one whom you can talk to, my dear John," his hostess declared. "I shall consider you off my hands for the afternoon. Come and dine with me next Sunday night, and don't lose your heart to Sarah Baldwin. She's a capricious little minx, and, besides, she's engaged to Jimmy there, though heaven knows whether they'll ever get married.--There! I knew it! My own particular Bishop being lured into conversation with Hilda Sutton, who's just become a freethinker and can't talk of anything else. It will spoil the dear man's afternoon if she gets really started.--Good-by, all of you. Take care of Mr. Wingate." She hurried off, and the newcomer seated himself between Kendrick and Sarah. "We've just been hearing all about you, Mr. Wingate," Sarah began, "but I must say you're the last person we expected to see here. We imagined you dashing in a great motor-car from Liverpool to your office in the City, dictating letters, speaking into the telephone, and doing all sorts of violent things. I don't believe Mr. Kendrick told us the truth about you at all." Wingate smiled good-humouredly. "Tell me what Kendrick has been saying, and I will let you know whether it is the truth or not," he promised. "Well, he has just given us a thrilling picture of you," she went on, "coming over here armed cap-a-pie to do battle for the romance of money. Already we were picturing to ourselves poor Dreadnought Phipps, the first of your victims, seeking for an asylum in the Stock Exchange Almshouses; and the other desperado--what was his name? Skinflint Martin?--on his knees before you while you read him a moral lecture on the evils of speculation." Wingate's eyes twinkled. "From all of which I judge that you have been discussing the British and Imperial Granaries," he remarked. "Our dear young friend, Miss Baldwin," Kendrick said, "has a vivid imagination and a wonderful gift of picturesque similies. Still, I have just been telling them that one reason why I wouldn't touch B. & I.'s is because they have an idea over here that you are going to have a shy at them." "My attitude toward the company in question is certainly an unfriendly one," Wingate admitted. "I hate all speculations the basis of which is utterly selfish. Dealing in foodstuffs is one of them. But, Miss Baldwin," he went on, turning towards her, "why do we talk finance on such a wonderful afternoon, and so far away from the City? I really came over from the States to get an occasional cocktail, order some new clothes and see some plays. What theatres do you advise me to go to?"