A ray of hope began to steal over Roland's horizon.

"But----" he began.

"There are no buts, really, Mr. Bleke. We should neither of us know a
minute's peace if we didn't do it. Now, you paid thirty thousand pounds
for the shares, you said? Well"--she held out a pink slip of paper to
him--"this will make everything all right."

Roland looked at the check.

"But--but this is signed by you," he said.

"Yes. You see, if Geoffrey had to sign a check for that amount, it
would mean selling out some of his stock, and in his position, with
every movement watched by enemies, he can not afford to do it. It might
ruin the plans of years. But I have some money of my own. My selling
out stock doesn't matter, you see. I have post-dated the check a week,
to give me time to realize on the securities in which my money is
invested."

Roland's whole nature rose in revolt at this sacrifice. If it had been his
host who had made this offer, he would have accepted it. But chivalry
forbade his taking this money from a woman. A glow of self-sacrifice
warmed him. After all, what was this money of his? He had never had any
fun out of it. He had had so little acquaintance with it that for all
practical purposes it might never have been his.

With a gesture which had once impressed him very favorably when
exhibited on the stage by the hero of the number two company of "The