“How much money does it require?”
“About twelve thousand pounds,” he told her.
“It seems very little,” she murmured.
“The need for money comes afterwards,” he explained. “We want to drain and plan and build without mortgages. As soon as we are sure of the site, one can think of that. My option only extends for a week or so.”
“Do you really think that it is a good speculation?” she asked.
“I do not think about such matters,” he answered, drily. “I know.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching him for several seconds—admiring him, as a matter of fact. The profound conviction of his words was almost inspiring. In her presence, and she knew that she was a very beautiful woman, he appeared, notwithstanding his absence of any knowledge of her sex and his lack of social status, unmoved, wholly undisturbed. He sat there in perfect naturalness. It did not seem to him even unaccountable that she should be interested in his concerns. He was not conceited or aggressive in any way. His complete self-confidence lacked any militant impulse. He was—himself, impervious to surroundings, however unusual.
“Why should I not be your capitalist?” she inquired slowly.
“Have you as much as twelve thousand pounds that you want to invest?” he asked, incredulously.
She rose to her feet and moved across to her desk. He sat quite still, watching her without any apparent curiosity. She unlocked a drawer and returned to him with a bankbook in her hand.