‘Exactly,’ cried the visitor, laying hands’ upon the pocket-book and opening it. ‘I went to the bank and saw young Fellowes myself. “Look here, Fellowes,” I told him, “I want my daughter’s money.” He stuck to it, sir; like a dog holding on to a bone. He growled about it, and he whined about it, said it wasn’t fair to withdraw the money on short notice. Said I couldn’t do better with it anywhere, and at last I told him, “Look here, Fellowes, I shall begin to think by and by there’s something wrong.” He went as red as a turkey-cock, begad, and drew a note on their London agent like a lord, and here I am with the money. Eight thousand pounds.’ By this time he had drawn a bundle of bank-notes from the pocket-book, and now sat flicking the edges of the notes with the tips of his great broad fingers. Bommaney heard the crisp music, and looked up with a momentary glance of hunger in his eyes. ‘That’s Patty’s little private handful,’ the visitor continued, opening the packet of notes, and smoothing it upon his knee. ‘Eighty notes of a hundred. Pretty little handful, isn’t it? They don’t look,’ he added, with his head reflectively on one side and his eyebrows raised a little, ‘they don’t look as they’d buy as much as they will.’ Bommaney tried to find a commonplace word by answer, and an inaudible something died drily in his throat. When his companion began to speak again, the bankrupt merchant wondered that he made no comment on his ghastly face--he knew his face was ghastly--or his shaking hands. There was an intuition in his mind so strong and clear that he trembled at its prophecy. ‘Patty,’ said the visitor, ‘will have everything in time, and a pretty good handful, too. But she’s bent on being independent, and she wants to have her own money in her own hands. She pretends it’s all because she wants to pay her milliner’s bills, and that kind of thing, herself; but I know better. The fact is’--he lowered his voice and chuckled--‘the fact is, she doesn’t want me to know how much she spends in charity. You look here, Bommaney’--the merchant’s heart seemed to stand still, and then to beat so wild an alarum that he wondered the other did not hear it The intuition multiplied in strength. He heard beforehand the spoken words, the very tones which marked them. ‘You’re a safe man, you’re a smart man. I suppose there isn’t anybody in London who can lay out money to more advantage than you can. I know it’s a great favour to ask, but I think you’ll do it for Patty’s sake and mine, if I do ask you. Take this, and invest it for her. Will you, now?’ He stood up with the bundle of notes outstretched in his hand. The merchant rose and accepted it, and looked him, with a sudden curious calm and steadiness, straight in the face. II