"That's white of you, Rita. You're the real thing. I'll swear you are—the Real Thing—you've got sand, too, a lot of it, and I like you for it. It's worth while getting in a hole to find out who your friends are. I won't forget this soon."
She disengaged her hands.
"Thanks," she said calmly. "Do you agree?"
"Agree? To what?"
"To let me buy that stock?"
He straightened and turned to his desk, uncertainly fingering some papers there. He was silent so long that she repeated the question.
"No," he said at last.
"Why do you say that?"
"I don't want you to."
"I don't understand. In New York you were willing to have me in with you. Why do you object now? Any security your banks will take ought to be good enough for me. Any security my cousin Cornelius Bent wants to buy ought to be worth having."