"Money is really no
object."
"Still"--she frowned in puzzlement--"I should think a clerk in the
leather business--!"
"I'm afraid I've misled you. I should have said that I _was_ a clerk
in the leather business until to-day. Now I happen to be independently
wealthy, a clerk no longer."
"How's that--wealthy?"
"Came into a small fortune this evening--nothing immodest, but ample
for one of my simple tastes and modest ambitions."
"I think," announced the lady thoughtfully, "that you are one of the
slickest young liars I ever listened to."
"That must be considerable eminence," considered P. Sybarite with
humility.
"On the other hand, you're unquestionably a perfect little gentleman,"
she pursued. "And anyhow I'm going to take you at your word and trust
you. If you ever change your mind about that hundred, all you've got
to do is to come back and speak for it.... Do I make you right? You're
willing to go a bit out of your way to do me a favour to-night?"
"Or any other night."
"Very well." Mrs. Inche rose. "Wait here a moment."
Wrapping her negligee round her, she swept magnificently out of the
"den," and a moment later again crossed P. Sybarite's range of vision
as she ascended the stairs. Then she disappeared, and there was
silence in the house: a breathing spell which the little man strove to
employ to the best advantage by endeavouring to assort and rearrange
his sadly disordered impressions.
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