"The rest is nothing--really, there is nothing to tell." "If it's nothing, then you'd better tell it to me anyway," he persisted. "Come, dear, what is it that you're holding back?" For a moment that seemed minutes to her father, Leslie hid her face upon his shoulder, and did not speak. Finally she broke out with: "Only something that he told me that I know is false; but if you must know, I'll tell you what he said...." * * * * * On the floor above, Mrs. Peter V. Wilkinson, still in her flowered-silk kimona, received her husband's confidential man. "Sit there," she directed, pointing to a chair close to the sofa on which now she was reclining, propped up by numberless bright-hued silken pillows. Flomerfelt did as he was bid, not omitting to kiss the hand that she had extended to him. "Now, Flomerfelt," she began, an anxious look on a face that was usually expressionless, "I want to know just where I stand in all this. For if there's going to be a crash, I want to know precisely what I've got--that is, how much money?" Flomerfelt did not answer at once. "You know," he said slowly, "that it has not been the custom of Peter V. to give money to his wife, rather, I should say, to put money in her name. Like every other business man, he has always needed ready cash, and----" "But how do I stand?" she interrupted, impatiently. "What have I got? Tell me; I must know." "Well, to begin with, there are your jewels," he declared. "They are worth thousands--perhaps hundreds of thousands." "And this house stands in my name, doesn't it?" she asked, brushing away the question of a few hundred thousands. "It does," was his brief answer, but without enthusiasm. "And the house is worth at least ten million dollars, isn't it?" she went on, with some show of satisfaction. "That's what it cost to build." Flomerfelt shook his head. "I should say that it cost much less." "What!" she gasped. "Why, everybody says it did. The papers...." Flomerfelt thought a moment. "I should think four million was an outside figure," he declared. "I know Peter V. doesn't consider it worth more than that." "Well, four million is something, at any rate," she returned, mollified. "I can live on that." Flomerfelt began to pace the room. "The difficulty with it, Mrs. Peter V., is that it is mortgaged. The trust companies hold mortgages on it to the extent of five million dollars, at least." Mrs. Wilkinson reached forth and drew him back into his seat. "Do sit down, Flomerfelt!" she cried; "and don't be a fool! What do you mean by telling me that the property isn't worth more than four million, and that, notwithstanding that, the trust companies have loaned five million on it--more than its value? What trust company would do a thing like that?" Flomerfelt's gaze took in the lady of the flowered-silk kimona from the sole of her foot to the top of her head.