e can get a square meal. Do you mean to tell me you don't
know where you're going to lunch to-morrow?" And he looked hard at
her.

It was a blow. She blenched under it.

"Oh, yes," she said, with her giggle, "I know that."

("Well you just don't!" he answered her in his heart. "You think
you're going to lunch with John Pilgrim. And you aren't. And it serves
you right!")

"Besides," he continued aloud, "how can you say you're ruined when I'm
making you a present of something that I paid L100 for?"

"But where am I to find the other half of the money--L2250?" she burst
out. "We were depending absolutely on you for it. If I don't get it,
the option will be lost, and the option's very valuable."

"All the easier to find the money then!"

"What? In less than twenty-four hours? It can't be done. I couldn't
get it in all London."

"Mr. Marrier will get it for you ... one of his certainties!" Edward
Henry smiled in the Five Towns manner.

"I _might_, you knaoo!" said Marrier, brightening to full hope in the
fraction of a second.

But Rose Euclid only shook her head.

"Mr. Seven Sachs, then?" Edward Henry suggested.

"I should have been delighted," said Mr. Sachs, with the most perfect
gracious tranquillity. "But I cannot find another L2250 to-morrow."

"I shall just speak to that Mr. Bryany!" said Rose Euclid, in the
accents of homicide.

"I think you ought to," Edward Henry concurred. "But that won't help
things. I feel a little responsible, especially to a lady. You have a
quarter of the whole option left in your hands, Miss Euclid. I'll pay
you at the same rate as Bryany sold to me. I gave L100 for half. Your
quarter is therefore worth L50. Well, I'll pay you L50."

"And then what?"

"Then let the whole affair slide."

"But that won't help me to my theatre!" Rose Euclid said, pouting. She
was now decidedly less unhappy than her face pretended, because Edward
Henry had reminded her of Sir John Pilgrim, and she had dreams of
world-triumphs for herself and for Carlo Trent's play. She was almost
glad to be rid of all the worry of the horrid little prospective
theatre.

"I have bank-notes," cooed Edward Henry, softly.

Her head sank.

Edward Henry rose in the incomparable yellow dressing-gown and walked
to and fro a little, and then from his secret store he produced a
bundle of notes, and counted out five tens and, coming behind Rose,
stretched out his arm, and laid the treasure on the table in front of