“What do you mean to do, then?”
“Twist is trying to convert some of our paper into cash, at a heavy sacrifice. If he succeed, we can stand it; if not, we must bolt to-night.” He paused for a few seconds, and then, in a lower whisper, said, “Is n't she game, that widow? What do you think she said? 'This is mere panic, Trover,' said she; 'it's a Yankee roguery, and nothing more. If I could command a hundred thousand pounds this minute, I 'd invest every shilling of it in their paper; and if May Leslie will let me, you 'll see whether I 'll be true to my word.'”
“It's easy enough to play a bold game on one's neighbor's money,” said Stocmar.
“She'd have the same pluck if it were her own, or I mistake her much. Has he got any disposable cash?” whispered Trover, with a jerk of his thumb towards Paten.
“Not a sixpence in the world.”
“What a situation!” said Trover, in a whisper, trembling with agitation. “Oh, there's Heathcote's brougham,—stopping here too! See! that's Mrs. Morris, giving some directions to the servant. She wants to see you, I'm sure.”
Stocmar, making a sign to Trover to keep Paten in conversation, hurried from the room just in time to meet the footman in the corridor. It was, as the banker supposed, a request that Mr. Stocmar would favor her with “one minute” at the door. She lifted her veil as he came up to the window of the carriage, and in her sweetest of accents said,—
“Can you take a turn with me? I want to speak to you.”