“Musa,” said Audrey, with an intimidated, defiant, proud smile, when the door had shut on Mr. Gilman, “I am still frightfully angry with you. If we stay here I shall suffocate. Let us go out for a walk. Besides, other people might call.”
Simultaneously there was another ring. It was a cable. She read:
“Sold Zacatecas at an average of six and a quarter dollars three weeks ago. Wrote you at length to Wimereux. Writing again as to new investments.
“FOULGER.”
“This comes of having no fixed address,” she said, throwing the blue cablegram carelessly down in front of Musa. “I’m not quite ruined, after all. But I might have known—with Mr. Foulger.” Then she explained.
“I wish——” he began.
“No, you don’t,” she stopped him. “So you needn’t start on that line. You are brilliant at figures. At least I long since suspected you were. How much is one hundred and eighty thousand times six and a quarter?”
Notwithstanding his brilliance, it took two pencils, two heads, and one piece of paper to solve the problem. They were not quite certain, but the answer seemed to be £225,000 in English money.
“We cannot starve,” said Audrey, and then paused.... “Musa, are we friends? We shall quarrel horribly. Do you know, I never knew that proposals of marriage were made like that!”
“I have not told you one thing,” said Musa. “I am going to play in Germany, instead of further concerts in Paris. It is arranged.”