er."

So Shiela went away and returned shortly saying that her maid had gone;
and then, with a questioning gesture to her husband, she seated herself
by the open window and looked out into the sunshine, waiting for him to
speak.

"Do you know," he said abruptly, "what saved Cardross, Carrick & Co.
from going to the wall?"

"What?" The quick, crisp question sounded like the crack of a tiny whip.

He looked at her, languidly amused.

"You knew there was a panic?" he asked.

"Yes, of course."

"You knew that your father and Mr. Carrick were worried?"

"Yes."

"You didn't realise they were in bad shape?"

"Not--very. Were they?"

"That they needed money, and that they couldn't go out into the market
and borrow it because nobody would lend any money to anybody?"

"I do not understand such details."

"Details? Ah--yes, quite so.... Then you were not aware that a run was
threatened on the Shoshone Securities Company and certain affiliated
banks?"

"Yes--but I did not suppose it meant anything alarming."

"And you didn't understand that your father and brother-in-law could not
convert their securities into the ready cash they needed to meet their
obligations--did you?"

"I do not understand details, Louis.... No."

"Or that they were desperate?"

Her face altered pitifully.

"On the edge of bankruptcy?" he went on.

"_What_!"

"Then," he said deliberately, "you don't know what helped them--what
tided them over those two days--what pulled them through by the slimmest
margin that ever saved the credit of anybody."

"Not--my money?"

"Yes; your money."

"Is it true, Louis?"

"Absolutely."

She leaned her head on her hand and sat gazing out of the open window.
There were tears very near her eyes, but the lids closed and not one
fell or even wet the thick lashes resting on her cheeks.

"I supposed it would please you to know what you have done."

The face she turned toward him was wonderful in its radiance.

She said: "I have never been as happy in all my life, I think. Thank you
for telling me. I needed just--that."

He studied her for a moment, nimble wits at work. Then:

"Has your father--and the others--in their letters, said anything about
it to you?"

"Yes, father has. He did not say matters had been desperate."

"I suppose he does not dare commit such a thing to paper--yet.... _You_
do not burn your letters," he added blandly.

"I have no reason to."

"It might save servants' g