"I know what you've done, and it's no good at all. You can't live
without us, and you mustn't," she said. The old man glowered still, but
a reflective smile crawled to his lips. "No, it's finished," he replied.

"It had to come, and it's done. It can't be changed. Fabian wouldn't
alter it, and I shan't."

His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on
top of his head.

"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," she responded cheerily. "Fabian
showed me the sum you offered for his share. It's ridiculous. The
business isn't worth it."

"What do you know about the business?" remarked the other.

"Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it's worth less now," she
answered with suggestion. "It's worth much less now," she added.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands
clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines
of trouble.

"I mean he's going to join the enemy," she answered quickly.

"Join the enemy!" broke from the old man's lips with a startled accent.

"Yes, the firm of Belloc."

The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face.