He nodded.

"You come," he said, "from a very quiet life. You will find things here
different. Do you know what these are?"

He touched a little row of black instruments which stood on the top of
his desk. She shook her head doubtfully.

"I am not quite sure," she admitted.

"They are telephones," he said. "This one"--touching the first--"is a
private wire to my offices in Wall Street. This one"--laying a finger
upon the second--"is a private wire to the bank of which I am president.
These two," he continued, "are connected with the two brokers whom I
employ. The other three are ordinary telephones--two for long distance
calls and one for the city. When you came in I touched this knob on the
floor beneath my foot. All the telephones were at once disconnected here
and connected with my secretaries' room. I can sit here at this table
and shake the money-markets of the world. I can send stocks up or down
at my will. I can ruin if I like, or I can enrich. It is the fashion
nowadays to speak lightly of the mere man of money, yet there is no king
on his throne who can shake the world as can we kings of the
money-market by the lifting even of a finger."

"Are you a millionaire?" she asked timidly. "But, of course, you must
be, or you could not live in a house like this."

He laid his hand gently upon hers.