"It is not my policy to let my buildings free of charge, Mrs. Thorpe. What consideration can you offer me for the use of this building?"
Mrs. Thorpe realized that she had not fallen into the hands of a philanthropist; she was fully aware that the man was not in sympathy with her plans. Without a moment's hesitation or a word of protest she drew from her purse the banknote that Mrs. Mayhew had pressed upon her, and handed it to him.
"How long may I have the use of the place for that amount?" she asked.
He held the money in his fingers as though testing its quality, and his eyes were fixed upon it, but the struggling soul within him was making him very uncomfortable. How merciless are the voices that contend in the soul of a man! These children of the Flat--was he in any way responsible for them? They were no better than so many rats in their holes--the houses that he provided were miserable holes--the wretched children--but why should he charge this woman rent for an old, deserted building set in a thicket of briars and brambles?
"You may have the building for the summer, if you like," he said aloud.
Mrs. Thorpe's eyes were upon him curiously. She could not tell how it happened, nor when, nor why, but she became aware that this pompous man of wealth had lost his air of condescension and self-conscious superiority.
"And now as I am paying you rent for this property," she said, "you will, I hope, make some needed repairs on the building and perhaps put the ground in a little better shape?"
The small eyes seemed to stand out from the enfolding flesh to look her full in the face. And that which they saw there aroused a smouldering spark of manhood. He turned to his desk and wrote rapidly for a few minutes. He handed her the paper. It was an order for whatever improvements she wished for both building and grounds.
"Present this to my business manager," he said, "and your bills will be paid."
Mrs. Thorpe arose at once and thanked him very sincerely.