“Of course I have,” he said genially. Then, after a longer pause, “Do you know that you’re the only person in this world that I have ever taken so completely into my confidence and shown what, for a better expression, I will call the seamy side of my business? I’d like to tell you a lot more, because it would be a relief to me to get it off my chest. But I’m telling you this, that if I marry you to-day, you’ll have to play your part to save me from everlasting ruin.”
“Ruin?” she said, startled, and he laughed.
“Not the kind of ruin that means you’ll go short of food,” he said, “but the sort of ruin that may mean—well, ruin from my point of view. Now you must understand this thing clearly, Sadie. I’m out for a big stake, and if I don’t pull it off, it’s as likely as not that I’ll go out. You’re a clever, useful sort of kid, and I have an idea that you may be even more useful. But there’s to be no sentiment in this marriage, mind! You have just to sit here and hold tight and do as you’re told, and you haven’t got to pry into my business any further than I want you to. And if I go away and don’t come back, you must reckon me as dead. I’ve a lot of business in America and elsewhere, which often takes me away for months at a time, and you’re not to get uneasy. But if you don’t hear from me—why, you can go down to the Lafayette and buy yourself the grandest little suit of mourning that you can afford!”
“Shall I be able to afford it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I shall put some Rentes to your credit at the Lyonnais. That will give you a steady income in case anything happens.”
The girl was troubled.
“I don’t quite like this idea,” she said. “What will happen?”
Mr. Cartwright flicked away the ash from the end of his cigar and said cheerfully:
“That depends entirely upon the view which is taken of a certain prospectus issued in London this morning.”