ad as long as people know that you've got it."

Before answering this Mr. Musselboro was driven to reflect that Mrs
Dobbs Broughton would probably hear his reply. "You won't find that
there is any doubt on that head in the City as to Broughton," he
said.

"I shan't ask in the City, and if I did, I should not believe what
people told me. I think there are sillier folks in the City than
anywhere else. What did he give for that picture upstairs which the
young man painted?"

"What, Mrs. Dobbs Broughton's portrait?"

"You don't call that a portrait, do you? I mean the one with the
three naked women?" Mr. Musselboro glanced round with one eye, and
felt sure that Mrs. Dobbs Broughton had heard the question. But the
old woman was determined to have an answer. "How much did he give for
it, Musselboro?"

"Six hundred pounds, I believe," said Mr. Musselboro, looking straight
before him as he answered, and pretending to treat the subject with
perfect indifference.

"Did he indeed, now? Six hundred pounds! And yet he hasn't got silver
spoons. How things are changed! Tell me, Musselboro, who was that
young man who came in with the painter?"

Mr. Musselboro turned round and asked Mrs. Broughton. "A Mr. John Eames,
Mrs. Van Siever," said Mrs. Broughton, whispering across the front of
Mr. Musselboro. "He is private secretary to Lord--Lord--Lord--I forget
who. Some one of the Ministers, I know. And he had a great fortune
left him the other day by Lord--Lord--Lord somebody else."

"All among the lords, I see," said Mrs. Van Siever. Then Mrs. Dobbs
Broughton drew herself back, remembering some little attack which had
been made on her by Mrs. Van Siever when she herself had had the real
lord to dine with her.

There was a Miss Van Siever there also, sitting between Crosbie and
Conway Dalrymple. Conway Dalrymple had been specially brought there
to sit next to Miss Van Siever. "There's no knowing how much she'll
have," said Mrs. Dobbs Broughton, in the warmth of her friendship.
"But it's all real. It is, indeed. The mother is awfully rich."

"But she's awful in another way, too," said Dalrymple.

"Indeed she is, Conway." Mrs. Dobbs Broughton had got into a way of
calling her young friend by his Christian name. "All the world calls
him Conway," she had said to her husband once when her husband caught
her doing so. "She is awful. Her husband made the business in the
City, when things were very different from what they are now, an