se not!"

"Perhaps I have confused it with some other tree. There are still a
great number of sacred trees in England, it seems."

But he left her to intercept Mrs. Munt, whose voice could be heard in
the distance; to be intercepted himself by Helen.

"Oh. Mr. Wilcox, about the Porphyrion--" she began and went scarlet all
over her face.

"It's all right," called Margaret, catching them up. "Dempster's Bank's
better."

"But I think you told us the Porphyrion was bad, and would smash before
Christmas."

"Did I? It was still outside the Tariff Ring, and had to take rotten
policies. Lately it came in--safe as houses now."

"In other words, Mr. Bast need never have left it."

"No, the fellow needn't."

"--and needn't have started life elsewhere at a greatly reduced salary."

"He only says 'reduced,'" corrected Margaret, seeing trouble ahead.

"With a man so poor, every reduction must be great. I consider it a
deplorable misfortune."

Mr. Wilcox, intent on his business with Mrs. Munt, was going steadily
on, but the last remark made him say: "What? What's that? Do you mean
that I'm responsible?"

"You're ridiculous, Helen."

"You seem to think--" He looked at his watch. "Let me explain the point
to you. It is like this. You seem to assume, when a business concern is
conducting a delicate negotiation, it ought to keep the public informed
stage by stage. The Porphyrion, according to you, was bound to say, 'I
am trying all I can to get into the Tariff Ring. I am not sure that
I shall succeed, but it is the only thing that will save me from
insolvency, and I am trying.' My dear Helen--"

"Is that your point? A man who had little money has less--that's mine."

"I am grieved for your clerk. But it is all in the days work. It's part
of the battle of life."

"A man who had little money--" she repeated, "has less, owing to
us. Under these circumstances I consider 'the battle of life' a happy
expression.

"Oh come, come!" he protested pleasantly, "you're not to blame. No one's
to blame."

"Is no one to blame for anything?"

"I wouldn't say that, but you're taking it far too seriously. Who is
this fellow?"

"We have told you about the fellow twice already," said Helen. "You
have even met the fellow. He is very poor and his wife is an
extravagant imbecile. He is capable of better things. We--we, the upper
classes--thought we would help him from the height of our superior
knowledge--and here's the result!"

H