you myself, you
wouldn't profit by the occasion."

"I should never want to profit by your loss, Mr. van Tromp."

"But suppose I could afford--to lose?"

Unable to answer him there, she held her peace, though it was a relief
that, before he had time to speak again, a page-boy knocked at the door
and entered with a card. Diane took it hastily and read the name.

"Tell the gentleman I can't see him," she said, with a visible effort to
speak steadily.

"Wait!" the banker ordered, as the boy was about to turn. "Who is it?"
Without ceremony he drew the card from Diane's hand and looked at it.
"Heu!" he cried. "It's Bienville, is it? Of course you'll see him; of
course you will; of course! Here, boy, I'll go with you."

Returning to Gramercy Park after this interview, the banker pottered
about his apartment until, on hearing the door-bell ring, he looked out
of the window and recognized Derek Pruyn's chauffeur. On the stairs, as
he went down, he heard Miss Lucilla's voice in the hall.

"Oh, come in, Derek. Marion isn't here yet, but she won't be long. I
asked you to come punctually, because I gathered from her note that she
wanted to see you very particularly, and without Mrs. Bayford's
knowledge. She has evidently something on her mind that she wants to
tell you."

"Hello, dears!" the old man interrupted suddenly, as, leaning heavily on
the baluster, he descended the stairs. "I've got good news for you."

"Good news, Uncle James?" Miss Lucilla said, reproachfully. With her
long, grave face, and in her heavy crape, she looked as though she found
good news decidedly out of place.

"The very best," the banker declared, reaching the hall and taking his
nephew and niece each by an arm. "Come into the library and I'll tell
you. There!" he went on, pushing Miss Lucilla into an arm-chair. "Sit
down, Derek, and make yourself comfortable. Now, listen, both of you.
Perhaps you're going to have a new aunt."

"Oh, Uncle James!" Miss Lucilla cried, in the voice of a person about to
faint.

"You're going to be married!" Derek roared, with the fury of a father
addressing a wayward son.

"The young woman," the banker went on to explain, "is of French
extraction, but Irish on the mother's side."

Derek grasped the arms of his chair and half rose, making an
inarticulate sound.

"'Sh! 'Sh!" the old man went on, lifting a warning hand. "She'd had
reverses of fortune; but that wasn't the reason why she came to me.
Though her h