"There is nothing," replied the visitor, "that I should like at this present moment better than a quid; but I'm afraid it's my duty to stay. I shan't do nobody any 'arm, beyond taking a inventory of the furniture. You'll find me quite a confidential family friend in a day or two, I should n't wonder. Oh, dear, 'ere's another of 'em coming to 'ave a go!"
He closed his eyes resignedly. Before him stood Tilly--small, slim, white to the lips, with all her world tottering on the brink of the abyss. In her hands she held a cigar-box.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Surname," replied the broker's man pedantically, "Stillbottle. Christian ditto, Samuel. Net result, Samuel Stillbottle."
"Have a cigar, Mr. Stillbottle," said Tilly, with a ghost of a smile.
Mr. Stillbottle helped himself without comment. He was a man for whom life held few surprises. "Thank you. But I won't go, mind you," was all he said.
Next moment Tilly motioned him to a chair beside the table, and set the decanter and a glass beside him. "Have something to drink, Mr. Stillbottle," she said.
"I shall be pleased to do so," replied Mr. Stillbottle graciously. "Without prejudice, of course," he added, filling his glass.
By this time the others, astonished and interrogative, had gathered round Tilly.
"Tilly," burst out Percy, "what's the good? He won't go--don't you think it!"