"Nonsense; it is of no use talking in this way to me. You never had fifteen hundred pence, let alone fifteen hundred pounds to advance to any one."
"Upon mine sacred word of honour," Mr. Kleinwort was beginning, when Mr. Werner stopped him.
"It is all right, Mr. Asherill," he said, "Kleinwort has advanced fifteen hundred pounds; I know how and I know why."
"Is Mr. Kleinwort the petitioning creditor?" inquired Mr. Asherill of Mr. Werner.
"I," interposed Mr. Kleinwort; "I, mein Gott! No! It is a pity, ach, such a pity. Such a place, such a plant, such a business! Did not I myself go down with Forde to see what was possible? Did I not say to the little lady, Mortomley's wife, 'It is a pity, such a pity to let all everything go; think what you and your friends can do, and then come to me; you shall have what you want if Bertrand Kleinwort can procure it for you.'"
Mr. Asherill looked at the devoted foreigner curiously.
"And what said the little lady?" he inquired.
"She turned up her nose at me—what small amount of nose there was to turn—she looked at me. Soh!" And Mr. Kleinwort glanced out of the corner of his eyes, and puckered his face into a grotesque sneer. "She flounced her dress about in a pet, and said, 'Thank you very much, but we are all tired of pouring water into a sieve; and, for myself, I think bankruptcy must be heaven in comparison to the life we have been leading lately.'"
"And you?" suggested Mr. Asherill.
"I then made answer, 'Madame, you will not find bankruptcy so pleasant as you think.' She folded her hands and said, 'We will take our chance.'"