“You are making a great mistake in not going into this,” he suggested amiably. “You could go in now, as you went into Hutchinson’s affair, ‘on the ground floor.’ That’s a good enough phrase, too. Twenty thousand pounds would make you a million. You Americans understand nothing less than millions.”
But T. Tembarom did not take him up. He muttered in a worried way from behind his shading hands, “We’ll talk about that later.”
“Why not talk about it now, before anything can interfere?” Palliser persisted politely, almost gently.
Tembarom sprang up, restless and excited. He had plainly been planning fast in his temporary seclusion.
“I’m thinking of what you said about Lady Joan,” he burst forth. “Say, she’s gone through all this Jem Temple Barholm thing once; it about half killed her. If any one raised false hopes for her, she’d go through it all again. Once is enough for any woman.”
His effect at professing heat and strong feeling made a spark of amusement show itself in Palliser’s eye. It struck him as being peculiarly American in its affectation of sentiment and chivalry.
“I see,” he said. “It’s Lady Joan you’re disturbed about. You want to spare her another shock. You are a considerate man, as well as a man of business.”
“I don’t want her to begin to hope if—”
“Very good taste on your part.” Palliser’s polite approval was admirable, but he tapped lightly on the paper after expressing it. “I don’t want to seem to press you about this, but don’t you feel inclined to consider it? I can assure you that an investment of this sort would be a good thing to depend on if the unexpected happened. If you gave me your check now, it would be Cedric stock to-morrow, and quite safe. Suppose you—”
“I—I don’t believe you were right—about what you thought.” The sharp-featured face was changing from pale to red. “You’d have to be able to swear to it, anyhow, and I don’t believe you can.” He looked at Palliser in eager and anxious uncertainty. “If you could,” he dragged out, “I shouldn’t have a check-book. Where would you be then?”