Bradwood, the rival, the bete noire of the banking-house of Mortimer & Co.
Mr. Mortimer's hair stood on end. No, that can and dare not be. Should he erase from his books the name of Lord Ellis of Crainburton? It would be a crime to think of such a thing! The transaction was certainly opposed to all rule and law; it was eleven o'clock in the evening, and at a time of the celebration of a festival, but what was to be done? Mr. Mortimer wrote a line, rang the bell, and when the servant entered gave him the note to deliver to Mr. Edwards.
Mr. Edwards was the bridegroom, and if he said yes, then the banker would also say the same.
"Your wish will be complied with, mademoiselle," said he, obligingly. "Have you, perhaps, any further requests to make?"
"Not very many—only mere bagatelles. I depart to-morrow morning for Algiers," said Clary, with indifference, as if speaking about taking a walk somewhere.
"For Algiers? H'm! the country is not bad, but the Frenchmen do not know much of colonization."
Madame Caraman opened her eyes very wide; she began to understand.
"I depart to-morrow morning early!" Clary coolly repeated.
Mortimer put his finger thoughtfully across his forehead.