"I am afraid I can do nothing for you, madam—as I've just explained to your confrères of the press."
Annie looked up at him, and said boldly:
"I am not a reporter, Mr. Jeffries. I am your son's wife."
The banker started back in amazement. This woman, whom he had taken for a newspaper reporter, was an interloper, an impostor, the very last woman in the world whom he would have permitted to be admitted to his house. He considered that she, as much as anybody else, had contributed to his son's ruin. Yet what could he do? She was there, and he was too much of a gentleman to have her turned out bodily. Wondering at his silence, she repeated softly:
"I'm your son's wife, Mr. Jeffries."
The banker looked at her a moment, as if taking her in from head to foot. Then he said coldly:
"Madam, I have no son." He hesitated, and added:
"I don't recognize——"
She looked at him pleadingly.
"But I want to speak to you, sir."