Whether or not Mrs. Kildair had calculated the effect of the intimacy of Beecher’s position, Slade saw it at once as he noted savagely the involuntary separating movement which each unconsciously performed, and, perceiving it, exaggerated its importance. The look he gave the younger man revealed to the amused woman how much he would have liked in barbaric freedom to have seized him and crushed him in his powerful arms. "Sorry to be late," he said abruptly, glancing at the clock. "I’ve taken the liberty to leave your telephone number, Mrs. Kildair, in case something important turns up." They passed immediately into the dining-room, Mrs. Kildair enjoying this clash of opposite personalities. Slade was not a man of small talk, disdaining the easy and ingratiating phrases with which other men establish a congenial intimacy. For the first quarter of an hour he withdrew from the conversation, and, being hungry, ate with relish. Beecher, abetted by his hostess, taking a malicious pleasure in the superiority he enjoyed, chatted of a hundred and one things which he shared with his listener, incidents of the party at Lindabury’s, gossip of the world they knew, Emma Fornez and Holliday, Mrs. Fontaine and Gunther. Then, naturally drawn to the one topic that charged the air with the electricity of its drama, he related the uproar in the city, the long lines of depositors before the banks, the incident of Bo Lynch in the morning, and the effect on the men they knew. In this both he and Mrs. Kildair had an ulterior motive—to make Slade talk: Mrs. Kildair, for reasons of her own, Beecher alive to his dramatic closeness to the one man about whose success or ruin all the storm of rumor and gossip was raging. "Stocks are still dropping," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing at Slade, who appeared quite unconscious. "An enormous quantity of holdings have been thrown on the market." "How long do you think it will keep up?" "That depends; a day, a week—Mr. Slade knows better than any one." Slade looked up suddenly. "What do they say about me?" he asked grimly. "Every one expects the Associated Trust to be the next," said Beecher frankly. "Probably. I’ll tell you one bit of news," he added quietly. "The Clearing-house will refuse to clear for us this afternoon." "But that means failure," said Mrs. Kildair, with a quick glance at him. "We shall see." "But the run has already started." "Oh, yes; we have paid off five depositors already," he said, with a smile that was almost imperceptible. "Only five?"