Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. "It would have been funny if we'd met over
there! You and I!"

"It would, sir," laughed Beaumaroy. "But that could hardly have happened
without some very curious accident."

The old man harked back. "Yes, a few more good consignments, and we can
think in earnest of your start." He was warming his hands, thin yellowish
hands, at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it. Looking down
on him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips, a queer smile,
which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, and amusement.

"The difficulties there remain considerable for the present," he
remarked.

"They must be overcome." Once again the old man's voice became sharp and
even dictatorial.

"They shall be, sir, depend on it." Beaumaroy's air was suddenly
confident, almost braggart. Mr. Saffron nodded approvingly. "But, anyhow,
I can't very well start till favorable news comes from--"

"Hush!" There was a knock on the door.

"Mrs. Wiles, to lay the table, I suppose."

"Yes! Come in!" He added hastily to Beaumaroy, in an undertone. "Yes, we
must wait for that."