"Yes, I'm speaking of your father!" he cried. "And if you've never heard the truth before, you will hear it now. Moreover, if I am any judge of human nature, you'll know whether I am stating facts or otherwise. Thirteen months ago Peter V. Wilkinson sought me out. I thought I was seeking him,"--he laughed bitterly,--"but I was wrong. He sought me out and placed me high up in his companies. I was successful--which meant that he had succeeded in his scheme. I did not see it then; but now I know that the man who is willing to stoop low enough to rope in the pennies of the Bridgets, the Michaels, the Lenas, and the Gustaves, of this world, is a man who would spend his time and money to get my quarter of a million--mine and Elinor's--in his grasp. But then I was flattered. It meant big salary and big dividends for me, at least, so I was assured." He faltered for an instant, and then went on: "I was a fool--a fool, not to see it all before. The result is that now I haven't got a dollar--we're penniless." "My father," returned the girl, calmly enough, "will have less than that, when all is said and done. This house, though it's in the name of Mrs. Wilkinson, will have to be sold, I presume. I don't see why you make a fuss over it--it was the panic, wasn't it? Everybody went down before it. That is, a great many Wall Street men are bankrupt. So, why do you complain?" "I complain because your father has got my quarter of a million--either he's got it, or you have." "I told you before that I have none of my father's money. I have my mother's money only--less than a million, that's all." "The panic!" went on Ilingsworth bitterly, ignoring her protest. "Yes, that's just like Wilkinson to lay it to the panic! That's what they all do! I tell you the panic was not the cause; it was the excuse. I wonder if you have ever stopped to realise what a trust company is for?" "Why, to save people's money, of course," was the girl's ready answer. "Just like a bank, isn't it?" Ilingsworth almost snorted. It was a strange colloquy, this conversation between the man of middle age and the girl. It had a curious interest that neither could have defined. The girl, on her part, felt that Ilingsworth represented, somehow, the criticism and abuse that the world was heaping on Peter V. Wilkinson. She wanted to estimate its full force, to weigh its import, and then to defend her father with every fibre of her being; Ilingsworth, on the other hand, felt the need of a confidant who would understand, for Elinor of the wistful eyes could only sympathise. This young woman knew what he was talking about. "Miss Wilkinson," he burst out now, "you surprise me! I thought you were more of a business woman than I am a business man. But I find you're not. Let me explain it to you. Jones wants to run a factory; Smith wants to speculate in real estate; Robinson wants to buck the Wall Street game. Now they haven't got a dollar, so what do they do? They buy a trust company."