'No; he was quite neutral. He would not commit himself either way.'

The result was that Clare and Elfie transferred their capital to Mr.
Montmorency's company, trusting entirely to the assurances of the
prospectuses that their dividends would be paid within the first
twelvemonth.

And Agatha had the unpleasant task of writing her refusal to Walter,
who had written by the same mail as Gwen, painting his future in
glowing colours, and loud in praise of Mr. Montmorency.

'Clare,' said Elfie one afternoon, coming into the study, where Clare
was reading in a dreary manner, 'come and see Deb and Patty with me,
will you? Agatha wants some honey, and we haven't seen anything of
them for ages!'

Clare put down her poetry-book with a sigh, but said she would go, and
they were soon sauntering over the meadows to Beehive Cottage, as it
was called by the villagers.

They found both sisters at home, and Deb was busy remaking two merino
skirts for herself and Patty.

''Tis not very often I do dressmakin' at home, but we're gettin' rather
shabby, and so I'm turnin' our Sunday bests. Sit down, young ladies,
and Patty will get you a glass o' milk.'

'And how is your sister gettin' on over the sea?' asked Patty, when she
had brought the milk and taken a seat opposite her visitors. 'Deb and
me often wonders of her, and how she be likin' it.'

'Oh, she is all right--very busy, making us send our money out to
invest in a gold-mine.'

'To buy a gold-mine!' ejaculated Deb.

'No; to put our money in it.'

'Ay; why the need for buryin' it down so deep? The earth is
everywhere; it be a safe bank, 'tis true, but safer close to one, than
in furrin parts, it seems to me.'

Patty spoke emphatically in her breathless manner; and Elfie laughed
outright.

'No, she doesn't want us to bury it. We have taken shares in a company
that is working the gold-mine.'

Deb and Patty shook their heads doubtfully over this statement.

'The company pickin' up gold is generally a low, bad set,' said Deb.
'I heard tell at Squire Johnson's of a young gentleman who was nigh
murdered by a rascally set of men, and all because of gold in his
pocket. Gold ofttimes brings a curse, my dears; 'tis best to spend as
you goes. And if so be as you put a little by for your burial, well,
the earth won't tell tales, and a flower will mark the spot. Did I
ever tell you o' my great-gran'mother's money pot?'

'No,' said Clare, with interest, for any old