o-morrow morning--in notes?"

"I remember I advised you not to sell just now; after we had finished
the sweetbread and had gone on to a creme renversee--very good one, too.
Yes, it is a bad time to sell. Things are uncertain in France just now.
One cannot even get one's meals properly served. Cook's head is full of
politics, I suppose."

"To-morrow morning--in notes," repeated Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence.

"Now, your man at Royan was excellent--kept his head all through--and a
light hand, too. Got him with you in Paris?"

"No, I have not. To-morrow morning, about ten o'clock--in notes."

And Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence tapped a neat gloved finger on the corner
of the table with some determination.

"I remember--at dessert--you told me you wanted to realise a
considerable sum of money at the beginning of the year, to put into some
business venture. Is this part of that sum?"

"Yes," returned the lady, arranging her veil.

"A venture of Dormer Colville's, I think you told me--while we were
having coffee. One never gets coffee hot enough in a private house, but
yours was all right."

"Yes," mumbled Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, behind her quick finger, busy
with the veil.

Beneath the sleepy lids John Turner's eyes, which were small and
deep-sunken in the flesh, like the eyes of a pig, noted in passing that
his client's cheeks were momentarily pink.

"I hope you don't mean to suggest that there is anything unsafe in Mr.
Colville as a business man?"

"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Turner. "On the contrary, he is most
enterprising. And I know no one who smokes a better cigar than
Colville--when he can get it. And the young fellow seemed nice enough."

"Which young fellow?" inquired the lady, sharply.

"His young friend--the man who was with him. I think you told me, after
luncheon, that Colville required the money to start his young friend in
business."

"Never!" laughed Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, who, if she felt momentarily
uneasy, was quickly reassured. For this was one of those fortunate
ladies who go through life with the comforting sense of being always
cleverer than their neighbour. If the neighbour happen to be a man, and
a stout one, the conviction is the stronger for those facts. "Never! I
never told you that. You must have dreamt it."

"Perhaps I did," admitted the banker, placidly. "I am afraid I often
feel sleepy after luncheon. Perhaps I dreamt it. But I could not hand
such a sum in notes to an unprotecte