"I know. Eight is the legal rate in my state. Business is done on that basis."
"I wish I could help. You know I'm horribly rich. I'd like to look into the matter. Will you let me?"
"Yes, but there's a risk—you see, I'm honest with you. I'll give stock as security and a share in the profits—but my stock isn't exactly like government bonds. Who is your lawyer? I'll put it up to him if you like."
"Stephen Gillis. But he'll do what I say."
"I'd rather you consulted him."
"Oh, yes, I shall. But I have faith in you, Jeff Wray. It seems like a good speculation. I'd like you to send me all the data. I'll really look into it seriously." She stopped and examined his face in some concern. In the lamplight she saw the lines that worry had drawn there. "But not to-night. You've had enough of business. You're tired—in your mind"—she paused again that he might the better understand her meaning—"but you're more tired in your heart. Business is the least of your worries. Am I right?"
"Yes," he said sullenly.
"I'm very sorry. Is there any way in which I can help?"
"No."
The decision in his tone was not encouraging, but she persevered.