The Tempting of Tavernake. E. Phillips Oppenheim

probably be able to discover the address easily enough without his help. Yet no such reflection seemed to make the least difference. From the days of his earliest boyhood, from the time when he had flung himself into the struggle, money had always meant much to him, money not for its own sake but as the key to those things which he coveted in life. Yet at that moment something stronger seemed to have asserted itself.

      “You will come?” she whispered, passing her arm through his. “We will be there in less than five minutes, and I will write you the cheque before you tell me anything.”

      He moved towards the door indeed, but he drew a little away from her.

      “Madam,” he said, “I am sorry to seem so obstinate, but I thought I had made you understand some time ago. I do not feel at liberty to tell you anything without that young lady's permission.”

      “You refuse?” she cried, incredulously. “You refuse a hundred pounds?”

      He opened the door of the car. He seemed scarcely to have heard her.

      “At about eleven o'clock to-morrow morning,” he announced, “I shall have the pleasure of calling upon you. I trust that you will have decided to take the house.”