"You must go and see the manager of your bank."
"But Roland is a clerk in my bank," Mrs. Caffyn objected. "And what would he say?"
"Roland!" repeated Norah, with scorn. "You don't suppose Roland knows everything that goes on in the bank?"
"No, I suppose he doesn't," agreed Mrs. Caffyn, wonderingly.
"If you like I'll go and see the bank manager," Norah offered. "He took rather a fancy to me, I remember, when he came to supper with us once."
"Norah, how recklessly you talk!" protested Mrs. Caffyn. But Norah was firm and she did not rest until she had persuaded her mother to ask for an interview with the manager, to whom she made herself so charming and with whom she argued so convincingly that in the end she succeeded in obtaining the £500.
"Though what your father will say I don't like to think, dear," said Mrs. Caffyn, as she tremblingly mounted an omnibus to go home.
"I don't see why father should know anything about it, and if he does he can't say anything. It's your money."
"Let's hope he'll never find out," Mrs. Caffyn sighed, though she had little hope really of escaping from detection in what she felt was something perilously like a clever bank robbery—the sort of thing one read about in illustrated magazines.
Norah determined to be very cautious at rehearsals and she advised Lily to be the same.