The voice aroused him, and a flush came upon his tanned, healthy-looking face. A beam of gladness and admiration lost itself in a cloud, as mechanically he raised his hat, and, holding the girl's hand, glanced uneasily aside, fearing to meet the anxious tenderness in the blue eyes which, now, were deepened to something nearer violet. "It is true, then?" she asked softly. He nodded, his lips grimly compressed. "Who told you," he questioned in turn, "that I had my poor scrapings in it?" "Oh, I don't know," she said wearily. "And it doesn't matter much, does it?" "Come away somewhere," Haredale suggested. "We can't stand here." In silence they walked away from the clamouring crowd of depositors. "Move along here, please! Move on! Move on!" "Where can we go?" asked the girl. "Anywhere," said Haredale, "where we can sit down. This will do." They turned into a cheap cafe, and, finding a secluded table, took their seats there, Haredale drearily ordering tea, without asking his companion whether she wanted it or not. It was improbable that Lady Mary Evershed had patronised such a tea-shop before, but the novelty of the thing did not interest her in the least. It was only her pride, the priceless legacy of British womanhood, which enabled her to preserve her composure--which checked the hot tears that burned in her eyes. For the mute misery in Haredale's face was more than he could hide. With all his sang-froid, and all his training to back it, he was hard put to it to keep up even an appearance of unconcern. Presently she managed to speak again, biting her lips between every few words. "Had you--everything--there, Dick?" He nodded. "I was a fool, of course," he said. "I never did have the faintest idea of business. There are dozens of sound investments--but what's the good of whining? I have acted as unofficial secretary to Mr. Julius Rohscheimer for two years, and eaten my pride at every meal. But--I _cannot_ begin all over again, Mary. I shall have to let him break me--and clear out." He dropped his clenched fists upon his knees, and under the little table a hand crept to his. He grasped it hard and released it. Mary, with a strained look in her eyes, was drumming gloved fingers on the table. "I detest Julius Rohscheimer!" she flashed. "He is a perfect octopus. Even father fears him--I don't know why." Haredale smiled grimly. "But there is _someone_ who could prevent him from ruining your life, Dick," she continued, glancing down at the table. She did not look up for a few moments. Then, as Haredale kept silent, she was forced to do so. His grey eyes were fixed upon her face. "Severac Bablon? What do you know of him, Mary?" She grew suddenly pale. "I only know"--hesitating--"that is, I _think_, he is a man who, however misguided, has a love of justice." Haredale watched her.