As Harry walked down from her house in Green Street, his thoughts were divided between the new life and that old one which she had raised again before his eyes by her reference to Cecily. The balance was turned in favor of Blent by the sight of a man who was associated in his mind with it--Sloyd, the house-agent who had let Merrion Lodge to Mina Zabriska. Sloyd was as smart as usual, but he was walking along in a dejected way, and his hat was unfashionably far back on his head. He started when he saw Harry approaching him. "Why, it's----" he began, and stopped in evident hesitation. "Mr Tristram," said Harry. "Glad to meet you, Mr Sloyd, though you won't have any more rent to hand over to me." Sloyd began to murmur some rather flowery condolences. Harry cut him short in a peremptory but good-natured fashion. "How's business with you?" he asked. "Might be worse, Mr Tristram. I don't complain. We're a young firm, and we don't command the opportunities that others do." He laughed as he added, "You couldn't recommend me to a gentleman with ten thousand pounds to spare, could you, Mr Tristram?" "I know just the man. What's it for?" "No, no. Principals only," said Sloyd with a shake of his head. "How does one become a principal then? I'll walk your way a bit." Harry lit a cigar; Sloyd became more erect and amended the position of his hat; he hoped that a good many people would recognize Harry. Yet social pride did not interfere with business wariness. "Are you in earnest, Mr Tristram? It's a safe thing." "Oh, no, it isn't, or you wouldn't be hunting for ten thousand on the pavement of Berkeley Square." "I'll trust you," Sloyd declared. Harry nodded thanks, inwardly amused at the obvious effort which attended the concession. "If you don't come in, you'll not give it away?" Again Harry nodded. "It's a big chance, but we haven't got the money to take it, and unless we can take it we shall have to sell our rights. It's an option on land. I secured it, but it's out in a week. Before then we must table twenty thousand. And ten cleans us out." "What'll happen if you don't?" "I must sell the option--rather than forfeit it, you know. I've an offer for it, but a starvation one." "Who from?" After a moment's scrutiny Sloyd whispered a name of immense significance in such a connection: "Iver." "I should like to hear some more about this. It's worth something, I expect, if Iver wants it. Shall I go with you to your office?" He hailed a passing cab. "I've got the money," he said, "and I want to use it. You show me that this is a good thing, and in it goes."