"Dear me! Dear me! A most unusual young woman! Do you tell me that her husband actually put an end to himself?"
"So I understand. The affair was a curious one; but Bienville swears he fired into the air, and I believe him. Besides, George Eveleth was found shot through the temple, and no one but himself could have inflicted a wound like that. To make it conclusive, Melcourt and Vernois, who were seconds, testify to having seen the act, without having the time to prevent it. You can see that it is a relief to me to be able to take this view of the case—on poor Marion's account."
"Marion—your daughter! Was she mixed up in the affair?"
"Mixed up is a little to much to say. I don't mind telling you in confidence that there was something between her and Bienville. I don't know where it mightn't have ended; but of course when all this happened, and we got wind of Bienville's entanglement with Mrs. Eveleth, we had to put a stop to the thing, and pack her off to America. She'll stay there with her aunt, Mrs. Bayford, till it blows over."
"And your friend Bienville? Hasn't he brought himself within the clutches of the law?"
"George Eveleth was officially declared a suicide. He had every reason to be one—though I don't want to say anything against Mrs. Eveleth. When Bienville refused to put an end to him, he evidently decided to do it himself. His family know nothing about that, so please don't let it slip out if you see Diane. With her notions, the husband fallen in her cause has perished on the field of honor; and if that's any comfort to her, let her keep it. As for Bienville, he's joined young Persigny, the explorer, in South America. By the time he returns the affair will have been forgotten. He's a nice young fellow, and it's a thousand pities he should have fallen into the net of a woman like Mrs. Eveleth. I don't want to say anything against her, you understand—"
"Oh, quite!"
"But—"
Mr. Grimston pronounced the word with a hard-drawn breath, and presented the appearance of a man who restrains himself. He was still endeavoring to maintain this attitude of repression when a discreet tap on the door called from Mr. van Tromp a gruff "Come in." A young man entered with a card.
"She's here," the banker grunted, reading the name.
Mr. Grimston shot up again.
"Better let me see her," he insisted, in a warning tone.
"No, no. I'll have a look at her myself. Bring the lady in," he added, to the young man in waiting.
"Then I'll skip," said Mr. Grimston, suiting the action to the word by disappearing in one direction as Diane entered from another.
Mr. van Tromp rose heavily, and surveyed her as she crossed the floor toward him. He had been expecting some such seductive French beauty as he had occasionally seen on the stage on the rare occasions when he went to a play; so that the trimness of this little figure in widow's dress, with white bands and cuffs, after the English fashion, somewhat disconcerted him. Unaccustomed to the ways of banks, Diane half offered her hand, but, as he was on his guard against taking it, she stood still before him.
"Mrs. Eveleth, I believe," he said, when he had surveyed her well. "Have the goodness to sit down, and tell me what I can do for you."
Diane took the seat he indicated, which left a discreet space between them. The heavy black satchel she carried she placed on the floor beside her. When she raised her veil, Mr. van Tromp observed to himself that the pale face, touching in expression, and the brown eyes, in which there seemed to lurk a gentle reproach against the world for having treated her so badly, were exactly what he would have expected in a woman coming to borrow money.
"I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp," Diane began, timidly, "because I thought that perhaps—you might know—who I am."
"I don't know anything at all about you," was the not encouraging response.
"Of course there's no reason why you should—" Diane hastened to say, apologetically.
"None whatever," he assured her.
"Only that a good many people do know us—"
"I dare say. I haven't the honor to be among the number."
"And I thought that possibly—just possibly—you might be predisposed in my favor."
"A banker is never predisposed in favor of any one—not even his own flesh and blood."
"I didn't know that," Diane persisted, bravely, "otherwise I might just as well have gone to anybody else."
"Just as well."
"Would you like me to go now?"
The question took him by surprise, and before replying he looked at her again with queer, bulgy eyes peering through big circular glasses, in a way that made Diane think of an ogre in a fairy tale.
"You're not here for what I like," he said at last, "but for what you want yourself."
"That's true," Diane admitted, ruefully, "but I might go away. I will go away, if you say so."
"You'll please yourself. I didn't send for you, and I'll not tell you to go. How old are you?"
It was Diane's turn to be surprised, but she brought out her age promptly.
"Twenty-four."
"You look older."
"That's because I've had so much trouble, perhaps. It's because we're in trouble that I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp."
"I dare say. I didn't suppose you'd come to ask me to dinner. There are not many days go by without some one expecting me to pull him out of the scrape he would never have got into if it hadn't been for his own fault."
"I'm afraid that's very like my case."
"It's like a good many cases. You're no exception to the rule."
"And what do you do at such times, if I may ask?"
"You may ask, but I'll not tell you. You're here on your own business, I presume, and not on mine."
"I thought that perhaps you'd be good enough to make mine yours. Though we've never met, I have seen you at various times, and it always seemed to me that you looked kind; and so—"
"Stop right there, ma'am!" he cried, putting up a warning hand. "'Most important business,' was what you said in your note, otherwise I shouldn't have consented to see you. If you have any business, state it, and I'll say yes or no, as it strikes me. But I'll tell you beforehand that there isn't a chance in a thousand but what it'll be no."
"I did come because I thought you looked kind," Diane declared, indignantly, "and if you think it was for any other reason whatever, you're absolutely mistaken."
"Then we'll let it be. I can't help my looks, nor what you think about them. The point is that you're here for something; so let's know what it is."
"You make it very hard for me," Diane said, almost tearfully, "but I'll try. I must tell you, first of all, that we've lost a great deal of money."
"That's no new situation."
"It is to me; and it's even more so to my poor mother-in-law. I should think you must have heard of her at least. She is Mrs. Arthur Eveleth. Her maiden name was Naomi de Ruyter, of New York."
"Very likely."
"Her husband was related, on his mother's side, to the Van Tromps—the same family as your own."
"That's more likely still. There are as many Van Tromps in New York as there are shrimps on the Breton coast, and they're all related to me, because I'm supposed to have a little money."
"I sha'n't let you offend me," Diane said, stoutly, "because I want your help."
"That's a very good reason."
"But since you take