Vreeland was now watching her with gleaming eyes.
“Wolfe has nothing whatever to lose. My husband insists that I shall back the firm (practically himself), and, he swears that you are the most successful man on the Street. He knows of all your individual plunging.
“And he knows, too, that you are ‘on the inside’ of the great Sugar deals, the Oil Company’s intrigues, and, are first favorite now since Hathorn married.”
Her voice rang out bitterly as she buried her face in her hands. “A woman’s capacity of resistance has its limits.
“I come to you to-night for help. I will make one last effort to break him of his mad folly, or else, leave him to his fate.
“When he is penniless, he may follow me over to Europe. He, at least, will be a husband, in name; a protection against the foreign society mob, over there.” Her voice was bitterly hard.
Vreeland began to murmur platitudes.
The beautiful woman’s eyes flashed. “Don’t dissemble. You shall know what I want!” she cried, pacing the room in her rising agitation.
“There is an ominous look in the Sugar market. You will go into the deal on a sure basis. Open your heart to me to-night, for my own sake. Give me your game for the next week. Let me copy it. I will make just one turn for him. If you only play fair, I may save him. It may bring me peace.
“If Hathorn will not be ruled, then my future life will be my own. I depend on you—on your honor, on your pledges made to me, at the Waldorf and the Savoy. I have come to you, here, fearlessly. What is your answer?”