closed doors, but a claw-footed sofa stood out from the wall at an
angle that prevented any access to the books. "I can't read Stuffed
Animal books," Helena had long ago confided to Lloyd Pryor. "The
British Classics, if you please! and Baxter's _Saint's Rest_, and
_The Lady of the Manor_." So Mr. Pryor made a point of providing
her with light literature. He pulled a paper-covered volume out of his
pocket now, and handed it to her.

"Not improving, Nelly, I assure you; and there is a box of candy in
the hamper."

She thanked him, but put the book down. "Talk to me, Lloyd. Tell me--
everything! How are you? How is Alice? Are you very busy with politics
and things? Talk to me."

"Well," he said good naturedly, "where am I to begin? Yes: I'm very
well. And very busy. And unusually poor. Isn't that interesting?"

"Oh, Lloyd! Are you in earnest? Lloyd, you know I have a lot of money,
and of course, if you want it, it is yours."

He was lounging lazily on the sofa, and drew her down beside him,
smiling at her through his curling lashes. "It isn't as bad as that.
It is only that I have shouldered the debts of the old Pryor-Barr Co.,
Limited. You know my grandfather organized it, and my father was
president of it, and I served my 'prenticeship to business in it."

"But I thought," she said, puzzled, "you went out of it long ago,
before--before--"