"No, that is not it," he said scornfully, rising and again approaching her. "You know better. You exhilarate me—you wake me up; and I need to be stimulated. So you’ve got it back in your little brain to marry me," he said, looking down with amused contemplation at the reclining figure, that was not so much human as a perfumed bed of flowers; "that is, if I pull through and keep my head above water." He hesitated a moment, and then said: "Why did you keep me waiting? Just to annoy me?" "I wonder," she said, looking up from under her eyelashes at his towering figure. "Perhaps it was to teach you some things are difficult." "That’s it, eh?" "Perhaps—and I’m afraid I shall irritate you many more times." He took a step nearer and said abruptly: "Look out! I don’t play fair." "Neither do I," she said. She took the button up again, frowning in a nonchalant way, and held it a moment while she waited for his decision. He shrugged his shoulders and stood back, taking several steps toward the center of the room. "Listen, John G. Slade," she said, her tone changing from the felinely feminine to the matter-of-fact, "don’t let’s continue as children. You are no match for me at this game. I warn you. Come. Be direct. Will you have me as an ally?" He turned and looked at her, considering. "In what way?" "Is it of importance to you to know the probable fate of Majendie and the Atlantic Trust?" "Yes—in a way." "I may have means of learning just that information tonight." "What do you want in return?" "Full confidence. I want two questions answered." "What?" She had raised herself to a sitting position out of the languor which was not the indolence of the Oriental, but rather the volcanic slumbering of the Slav, always ready to break forth into sudden tremendous exertion. "Can the Associated Trust meet its Wednesday obligations without assistance?" "And second?" he said, amazed at the detailed knowledge that her question implied. "Second, if it can’t, will the Clearing-house help it through?" "What difference to you would it make to know?" "It would." "How long have you known Bernard Majendie?" he said slowly. She accepted the question as a rebuff. "There are my terms," she said, sinking back on the couch. "You don’t wish an ally, then?" "No." "You don’t trust me?" "No." "I knew you wouldn’t," she said indolently; "and yet, I could help you more than you think." "I trusted a man once," he said scornfully. "I have never made that mistake with a woman." "As you wish." "Are you trying a flyer?" he said, smiling. "That’s the game, is it—a tip?" "I have told you," she said coldly and in a tone that carried conviction, "that what interests me is to win the game itself, the excitement and the perils. And I have been behind the scenes many times." "I believe it," he said abruptly. "I should like to hear—" "I am a woman who keeps the secrets of others and her own," she answered, interrupting his question.