a long story," Jacob sighed.

"We'll see what we can do on Thursday night," she reflected. "Good-by!
I shall tell mother we are getting along famously. Don't forget
Thursday at eight o'clock."

* * * * *

The drawing-room at Delchester House was large and in its way
magnificent, although there was in the atmosphere that faint, musty
odour, as though holland covers had just been removed from the
furniture, and the place only recently prepared for habitation. The
Marchioness, who was alone, greeted Jacob with much cordiality.

"I hope you won't mind our not having a party for you, Mr. Pratt," she
said. "We are just ourselves, and a quaint person whom Delchester has
picked up in the city, some one who is going to help him make some
money, I hope. You have no idea, Mr. Pratt, how hard things are to-day
for people with inherited estates."

Jacob murmured a word of sympathy. Then the Marquis appeared, followed
by Lady Mary, who drew him to one side to ask him questions about
Sybil; next came Felixstowe, who looked in to say "How do you do" on
his way to dine with a friend; and finally, to Jacob's amazement, the
butler announced, "Mr. Dane Montague!"

Mr. Dane Montague, in a new dress suit, his hair treated by a West End
hairdresser, had a generally toned-down appearance. Jacob was
conscious of a sensation of genuine admiration when, upon the
introduction being effected, the newcomer held out his hand without
the slightest embarrassment.

"I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. Pratt," he announced. "We have, in
fact, carried through a little business deal together. Not such a bad
one, either, eh, Mr. Pratt? A few thousands each, or something of that
sort, if I remember rightly. Even a few thousands are worth picking up
for us city men, Marquis," he added, turning to Lord Delchester.

The Marquis' eyes glistened. His face seemed more hawklike than ever.

"I should be exceedingly grateful to any one who showed me how to make
a few thousands," he declared.

"Well, Mr. Pratt and I between us ought to find that easy enough,"
the financier observed. "Treat the City right, pat and stroke her the
right way, and she'll yield you all you ask for. Buck up against her
and she'd down a Rothschild."

Dinner was a quaint meal. Mr. Dane Montague engaged his hostess'
attention with fragments of stilted conversation, the Marquis was
almost entirely silent, and Lady Mary monopolised Jacob, except for a