"You're a cynical, conceited, feather-headed young ass," said Vernon with cold, self-restrained fury, "and I forbid you to speak of Miss Corsoon in that commercial way, much less call her by her Christian name. She loves me and I love her, and we intend to marry, if----"
"If Lady Corsoon permits the match," finished Maunders, stretching out his long legs. "It's no go, my dear fellow. She doesn't think you rich enough for the girl."
"I never heard that Constantine Maunders was a millionaire," retorted the other man bitterly.
"My face is my fortune, old chap, and there are various ways of getting Lady Corsoon's consent."
"What ways?" asked Vernon suddenly and searchingly looking at his friend.
"Ah, you ask too much. I am not your partner yet."
"That means you have some knowledge about Lady Corsoon which you can use to force her to consent."
"Perhaps. I know a great deal about most people. Every one has his or her secrets as well as her or his price."
"Are you a private enquiry agent also?" sneered Vernon, leaning back.
"Ah!" Maunders seized upon the half admission. "Then you _are_ Nemo?"