Grayleigh shrugged his shoulders. The action was significant.

"I see," cried Ogilvie. He was silent for a moment, then he sprang
to his feet. "I have regarded you as my friend for some time,
Grayleigh, and there have been moments when I have been proud of your
acquaintanceship, but in the name of all that is honorable, and all
that is virtuous, why will you mix up a pretended act of benevolence
to me with--you know what it means--a fraudulent scheme? You are
determined that there shall be a rich vein below the surface. In
plain words, if there is not, you want a false assay of the Lombard
Deeps. That is the plain English of it, isn't it?"

"Pooh! my dear Ogilvie, you use harsh words. Fraudulent! What does the
world--our world I mean--consist of? Those who make money, and those
who lose it. It is a great competition of skill--a mere duel of wits.
All is fair in love, war, and speculation."

"Your emendation of that old proverb may be _fin de siecle_, but it
does not suit my notions," muttered Ogilvie, sitting down again.

Grayleigh looked keenly at him.

"You will be sorry for this," he said; "it means much to you. You
would be quite safe, you know that."

"And what of the poor country parson, the widow, the mechanic? I grant
they are fools; but----"

"What is the matter with you?" said Lord Grayleigh; "you never were so
scrupulous."

"I don't know that I am scrupulous now. I shall be very glad to assay
the mine for you, if I may give you a----"

"We need not enter into that," said Grayleigh, rising; "you have
already put matters into words which had better never have been
uttered. I will ask you to reconsider this: it is a task too
important to decline without weighing all the _pros_ and _cons_. You
shall have big pay for your services; big pay, you understand."

"And it is that which at once tempts and repels me," said Ogilvie.
Then he paused, and said abruptly, "How is Sibyl? Have you seen much
of her?"

"Your little daughter? I saw her twice. Once, when she was very dirty,
and rather rude to me, and a second time, when she was the perfection
of politeness and good manners."

"Sibyl is peculiar," said Ogilvie, and his eyes gleamed with a flash
of the same light in them which Sibyl's wore at intervals.

"She is a handsome child, it is a pity she is your only one, Ogilvie."

"Not at all," answered Ogilvie; "I never wish for another, she
satisfies me completely."

"Well, to turn to the present matter,