"It was the cause of it. Well, I am placed in a horribly awkward position. My mother is called upon to pay a large sum of money, say eight to ten thousand. Of course, we could easily manage that." "Easily, I should think," said Aldridge, thinking with pride of the gallant stand the Bank had made in the late ruinous times. "But," continued Grey, "if I paid the money now, I might be called upon to pay a similar or even a larger sum in six months, and again six months later, and I could not stand that kind of thing." Aldridge shook his head and looked grave in confirmation of Grey's decision. "The things must be sold," continued the banker. "When she has no property to pledge, no annuity to pawn, I can make a suitable allowance to her. The fact is, Aldridge, my poor mother has lost all her money in gambling on the Stock Exchange. Her name does not appear. She did it through some fellow in London. Now you see how there is nothing for it but to sell out. You see that clearly?" "Nothing in the world could be plainer. A woman of her age!" "Isn't it extraordinary in a woman of her years?" "Wonderful!" "Now I told you I threw myself on your honour, and what I want you to do is to keep the matter rigidly to yourself, except in such cases as you in your judgment think silence would injure the Bank, and then you must not reveal the facts except upon a pledge of strict, the strictest secrecy. No earthly consideration would induce me to allow my poor mother's name to become a byword in Daneford, where she has been respected for so many years. Aldridge, Aldridge, my friend, I count on you to do this for me." This time it was the manager who stood up. He went to the banker, caught his hand, and said: "You may count upon me in this, Mr. Grey, as upon yourself. I should be the last in the world to make idle talk about the name of Grey, and you may rely upon my keeping the secret from everyone, except when the interest of the Bank is at stake." "Thank you, my dear Aldridge. It is a great relief to me to have opened my mind to you. You are the only man whose discretion I could trust in so delicate a matter." In a little while Aldridge took his leave, and Grey was left alone. "By Jove," he mused, "that returned letter was a splendid tonic. It pulled me together like magic. I feel a new man now--a new man. Now I have only one person to take care of--myself. She would not hear me. Because I tried to save her the misery I myself endured, because I represented things to her as flourishing when all was gone, she turns on me, throws me off, draws attention to my credit and my reputation when I should have neither if the truth were known, if the lesser truth were known; and by opening up inquiry leading to the discovery of the lesser truth, the disclosure of the greater was risked.