Waymark dined with them one Sunday in June, and, in the course of the evening, went with Abraham to the smoking-room for some private conversation.
"Do you remember," he began, "once offering to buy those shares of mine?"
"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Woodstock, narrowing his eyes.
"Does the offer still hold good?"
"Yes, yes; if you're anxious to realise."
"I am. I want money—for two purposes."
"What are they?" Abraham asked bluntly.
"One is a private matter, which I don't think I need speak of; but the other I can explain. I have found a courageous publisher who has offered to bring my book out if I take a certain risk. This I have made up my mind to do. I want to get the thing out, if only for the sake of hearing Mrs. Grundy lift up her voice; and if it can't be otherwise, I must publish at my own expense."
"Will it repay you?" Mr. Woodstock asked.
"Ultimately, I have no doubt; but I don't care so much about that."