In the private office of the great Franco-American banking-house of Van Tromp & Co., the partners, having finished their conference, were about to separate.
"That's all, I think," said Mr. Grimston. He rose with a jerky movement, which gave him the appearance of a little figure shot out of a box.
Mr. van Tromp remained seated at the broad, flat-topped desk, his head bent at an angle which gave Mr. Grimston a view of the tips of shaggy eyebrows, a broad nose, and that peculiar kind of protruding lower lip before which timid people quail. As there was no response, Mr. Grimston looked round vaguely on the sombre, handsome furnishings, fixing his gaze at last on the lithographed portrait of Mr. van Tromp senior, the founder of the house, hanging above the mantelpiece.
"That's all, I think," Mr. Grimston repeated, raising his voice slightly in order to drown the rumble that came through the open windows from the rue Auber.
Suddenly Mr. van Tromp looked up.
"I've just had a letter," he said, in a tone indicating an entirely new order of discussion, "from a person who signs herself Diana--or is it Diane?--Eveleth."
"Oh, Diane! She's written to you, has she?" came from Mr. Grimston, as his partner searched with short-sighted eyes for the letter in question among the papers on the desk.
"You know her, then?"
"Of course I know her. You ought to know her, too. You would, if you didn't shut yourself up in the office, away from the world."
"N-no, I don't recall that I've ever met the lady. Ah, here's the note, just sit down a minute while I read it."
Mr. Grimston shot back into his seat again, while Mr. van Tromp wiped his large, circular glasses.
"'Dear Mr. van Tromp,' she begins, 'I am most anxious to talk to you on very important business, and would take it as a favor if you would let me call on Tuesday morning and see you very privately. Yours sincerely, Diane Eveleth.' That's all. Now, what do you make of it?"
The straight smile, which was all the facial expression Mr. Grimston ever allowed himself, became visible between the lines of his closely clipped mustache and beard. He took his time before speaking, enjoying the knowledge that this was one of those social junctures in which he had his senior partner so conspicuously at a disadvantage.
"It's a bad business, I'm afraid," he said, as though summing up rather than beginning.
"What does the woman want with me?"
"That, I fear, is painfully evident. You must have heard of the Eveleth smash a couple of months ago. Or--let me see!--I think it was just when you were in New York. No; you'd be likely not to hear of it. The Eveleths have so carefully cut their American acquaintance for so many years that they've created a kind of vacuum around themselves, out of which the noise of their doings doesn't easily penetrate. They belong to that class of American Parisians who pose for going only into French society."
"I know the kind."
"Mrs. Grimston could tell you all about them, of course. Equally at home as she is in the best French and American circles, she hears a great many things she'd rather not hear."
"She needn't listen to 'em."
"Unfortunately a woman in her position, with a daughter like Marion, is obliged to listen. But that's rather the end of the story--"
"And I want the beginning, Grimston, if you don't mind. I want to know why this Diane should be after me."
"She's after money," Mr. Grimston declared, bluntly. "She's after money, and you'd better let me manage her. It would save you the trouble of the refusal you'll be obliged to make."
"Well, tell me about her and I'll see."
Mr. Grimston stiffened himself in his chair and cleared his throat.
"Diane Eveleth," he stated, with slow, significant emphasis, "is an extremely fascinating woman. She has probably turned more men round her little finger than any other woman in Paris."
"Is that to her credit or her discredit?"
"I don't want to say anything against Mrs. Eveleth," Mr. Grimston protested. "I wish she hadn't come near us at all. As it is, you must be forewarned."
"I'm not particular about that, if you'll give me the facts."
"That's not so easy. Where facts are so deucedly disagreeable, a fellow finds it hard to trot out any poor little woman in her weaknesses. I must make it clear beforehand that I don't want to say anything against her."
"It's in confidence--privileged, as the lawyers say. I sha'n't think the worse of her--that is, not much."
"Poor Diane," Mr. Grimston began again, sententiously, "is one of the bits of human wreckage that have drifted down to us from the pre-revolutionary days of French society. Her grandfather, the old Comte de la Ferronaise, belonged to that order of irreconcilable royalists who persist in dashing themselves to pieces against the rising wall of democracy. I remember him perfectly--a handsome old fellow, who had lost an arm in the Crimea. He used to do business with us when I was with Hargous in the rue de Provence. Having impoverished himself in a plot in favor of the Comte de Chambord, somewhere about 1872, he came utterly to grief in raising funds for the Boulanger craze, in the train of the Duchesse d'Uzes. He died shortly afterward, one of the last to break his heart over the hopeless Bourbon cause."
"That, I understand you to say, was the grandfather of the young woman who is after money. She's a Frenchwoman, then?"
"She's half French. That was her grandfather. The father was of much the same type, but a lighter weight. He married an Irish beauty, a Miss O'Hara, as poor as himself. He died young, I believe, and I'd lost sight of the lot, till this Mademoiselle Diane de la Ferronaise floated into view, some five years ago, in the train of the Nohant family. Her marriage to George Eveleth, which took place almost at once, was looked upon as an excellent thing all round. It rid the Nohants of a poor relation, and helped to establish the Eveleths in the heart of the old aristocracy. Since then Diane has been going the pace."
"What pace?"
"The pace the Eveleth money couldn't keep up with; the pace that made her the most-talked-of woman in a society where women are talked of more than enough; the pace that led George Eveleth to put a bullet through his head under pretence of fighting a duel."
"Dear me! Dear me! A most unusual young woman! Do you tell me that her husband actually put an end to himself?"
"So I understand. The affair was a curious one; but Bienville swears he fired into the air, and I believe him. Besides, George Eveleth was found shot through the temple, and no one but himself could have inflicted a wound like that. To make it conclusive, Melcourt and Vernois, who were seconds, testify to having seen the act, without having the time to prevent it. You can see that it is a relief to me to be able to take this view of the case--on poor Marion's account."
"Marion--your daughter! Was she mixed up in the affair?"
"Mixed up is a little to much to say. I don't mind telling you in confidence that there was something between her and Bienville. I don't know where it mightn't have ended; but of course when all this happened, and we got wind of Bienville's entanglement with Mrs. Eveleth, we had to put a stop to the thing, and pack her off to America. She'll stay there with her aunt, Mrs. Bayford, till it blows over."
"And your friend Bienville? Hasn't he brought himself within the clutches of the law?"
"George Eveleth was officially declared a suicide. He had every reason to be one--though I don't want to say anything against Mrs. Eveleth. When Bienville refused to put an end to him, he evidently decided to do it himself. His family know nothing about that, so please don't let it slip out if you see Diane. With her notions, the husband fallen in her cause has perished on the field of honor; and if that's any comfort to her, let her keep it. As for Bienville, he's joined young Persigny, the explorer, in South America. By the time he returns the affair will have been forgotten. He's a nice young fellow, and it's a thousand pities he should have fallen into the net of a woman like Mrs. Eveleth. I don't want to say anything against her, you understand--"
"Oh, quite!"
"But--"
Mr. Grimston pronounced the word with a hard-drawn breath, and presented the appearance of a man who restrains himself. He was still endeavoring to maintain this attitude of repression when a discreet tap on the door called from Mr. van Tromp a gruff "Come in." A young man entered with a card.
"She's here," the banker grunted, reading the name.
Mr. Grimston shot up again.
"Better let me see her," he insisted, in a warning tone.
"No, no. I'll have a look at her myself. Bring the lady in," he added, to the young man in waiting.
"Then I'll skip," said Mr. Grimston, suiting the action to the word by disappearing in one direction as Diane entered from another.
Mr. van Tromp rose heavily, and surveyed her as she crossed the floor toward him. He had been expecting some such seductive French beauty as he had occasionally seen on the stage on the rare occasions when he went to a play; so that the trimness of this little figure in widow's dress, with white bands and cuffs, after the English fashion, somewhat disconcerted him. Unaccustomed to the ways of banks, Diane half offered her hand, but, as he was on his guard against taking it, she stood still before him.
"Mrs. Eveleth, I believe," he said, when he had surveyed her well. "Have the goodness to sit down, and tell me what I can do for you."
Diane took the seat he indicated, which left a discreet space between them. The heavy black satchel she carried she placed on the floor beside her. When she raised her veil, Mr. van Tromp observed to himself that the pale face, touching in expression, and the brown eyes, in which there seemed to lurk a gentle reproach against the world for having treated her so badly, were exactly what he would have expected in a woman coming to borrow money.
"I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp," Diane began, timidly, "because I thought that perhaps--you might know--who I am."
"I don't know anything at all about you," was the not encouraging response.
"Of course there's no reason why you should--" Diane hastened to say, apologetically.
"None whatever," he assured her.
"Only that a good many people do know us--"
"I dare say. I haven't the honor to be among the number."
"And I thought that possibly--just possibly--you might be predisposed in my favor."
"A banker is never predisposed in favor of any one--not even his own flesh and blood."
"I didn't know that," Diane persisted, bravely, "otherwise I might just as well have gone to anybody else."
"Just as well."
"Would you like me to go now?"
The question took him by surprise, and before replying he looked at her again with queer, bulgy eyes peering through big circular glasses, in a way that made Diane think of an ogre in a fairy tale.
"You're not here for what I like," he said at last, "but for what you want yourself."
"That's true," Diane admitted, ruefully, "but I might go away. I
will go away, if you say so."
"You'll please yourself. I didn't send for you, and I'll not tell you to go. How old are you?"
It was Diane's turn to be surprised, but she brought out her age promptly.
"Twenty-four."
"You look older."
"That's because I've had so much trouble, perhaps. It's because we're in trouble that I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp."
"I dare say. I didn't suppose you'd come to ask me to dinner. There are not many days go by without some one expecting me to pull him out of the scrape he would never have got into if it hadn't been for his own fault."
"I'm afraid that's very like my case."
"It's like a good many cases. You're no exception to the rule."
"And what do you do at such times, if I may ask?"
"You may ask, but I'll not tell you. You're here on your own business, I presume, and not on mine."
"I thought that perhaps you'd be good enough to make mine yours. Though we've never met, I have seen you at various times, and it always seemed to me that you looked kind; and so--"
"Stop right there, ma'am!" he cried, putting up a warning hand. "'Most important business,' was what you said in your note, otherwise I shouldn't have consented to see you. If you have any business, state it, and I'll say yes or no, as it strikes me. But I'll tell you beforehand that there isn't a chance in a thousand but what it'll be no."
"I did come because I thought you looked kind," Diane declared, indignantly, "and if you think it was for any other reason whatever, you're absolutely mistaken."
"Then we'll let it be. I can't help my looks, nor what you think about them. The point is that you're here for something; so let's know what it is."
"You make it very hard for me," Diane said, almost tearfully, "but I'll try. I must tell you, first of all, that we've lost a great deal of money."
"That's no new situation."
"It is to me; and it's even more so to my poor mother-in-law. I should think you must have heard of her at least. She is Mrs. Arthur Eveleth. Her maiden name was Naomi de Ruyter, of New York."
"Very likely."
"Her husband was related, on his mother's side, to the Van Tromps--the same family as your own."
"That's more likely still. There are as many Van Tromps in New York as there are shrimps on the Breton coast, and they're all related to me, because I'm supposed to have a little money."
"I sha'n't let you offend me," Diane said, stoutly, "because I want your help."
"That's a very good reason."
"But since you take so little interest in us I will not attempt to explain how it is that we've come to such misfortune."
"I'll take that for granted."
"The blow has fallen more heavily on my mother-in-law than on me. She has lost everything she had in the world; while I have still my own money--my
dot--and a little over from the sale of my jewels."
"Well?"
"If you'd ever seen her, you would know how terrible, how impossible, such a situation is for her. She's the sort of woman who ought to have money--who
must have money. And so I thought if I came to you--"
"I'd give her some."
"No," Diane said, quickly, with a renewed touch of indignation, "but that you'd help me to do it."
He looked at her with an odd, upward glance under his shaggy, overhanging brows, while the protruding lower lip went a shade further out.
"Help you to do it? How?"
"By letting her have mine."
Again he looked at her, almost suspiciously.
"You've got plenty to give away, I suppose?"
"On the contrary, I've pitifully little; but such as it is, I want her to have it all. She could live on it--with economy; or at least she says I could."
"And can't you?"
"I don't want to. As there isn't enough for two, I wish to settle it on her. Isn't that the word?--settle?"
"It'll do as well as another. And what do you propose to do yourself?"
"Work."
Diane forced the word in a little gasp of humiliation, but she got it out.
"And what'll you work at?"
"I don't know yet, exactly. I shall have to see. My mother-in-law is going to America; and when she does I'll join her."
"Humph! My good woman, you wouldn't do more than just keep ahead of starvation."
"Oh, I shouldn't expect to do more. If I succeeded in that--I should live."
"How much money have you got?"
"It's all here," she answered, picking up the black satchel and opening it. "These are my securities, and I'm told they're very good."
"And do you take them round with you every time you go shopping?"
"No," Diane smiled, somewhat wanly. "They've been in the hands of the Messrs. Hargous for a good many years past. They are entirely at my own disposal--not in trust, they said; so that I had a right to take them away. I thought I would just bring them to you."
"What for?"
"To keep them for my mother-in-law and pay her the interest, or whatever it is."
"Why didn't you leave them with Hargous?"
"I was afraid, from some things he said, he would object to what I wanted to do."
"And what made you think I wouldn't object to it, too?"
"Two or three reasons. First, Monsieur Hargous is not an American, and you are; and I'd been told that Americans always like to help one another--"
"I don't know who could have put that notion into your head."
"And, then, from the few glimpses I've had of you--I
will say it!--I thought you looked kind."
"Well, now that you've had a better look, you see I don't. How much money have you got? You haven't told me that yet."
"Here's the memorandum. They said they were mostly bonds, and very good ones."
With the slip of paper in his hand the banker leaned back in the chair, and took a longer time than was necessary to scan the poor little list. In reality he was turning over in his mind the unexpected features of the case, venturing a peep at Diane as she sat meekly awaiting the end of his perusal.
"Hasn't it occurred to you," he asked, at last, "that you could leave your affairs in Hargous' hands, and still turn over to your mother-in-law whatever sums he paid you?"
"Yes; but she wouldn't take the money unless she thought it was her very own."
"But it isn't her very own. It's yours."
"I want to make it hers. I want to transfer it to her absolutely--so that no one else, not even I, shall have a claim upon it. There must be ways of doing that."
"There are ways of doing that, but as far as she's concerned it comes to the same thing. If she won't touch the income, she will refuse to accept the principal."
"I've thought of that, too; and it's among the reasons why I've come to you. I hoped you'd help me--"
"To tell a lie about it."
"I should think it might be done without that. My mother-in-law is a very simple woman in business affairs. She has been used all her life to having money paid into her account, when she had only the vaguest idea as to where it came from. If you should write to her now and say that some small funds in her name were in your hands, and that you would pay her the income at stated intervals, nothing would seem more natural to her. She would probably attribute it to some act of foresight on her son's part, and never think I had anything to do with it at all."
For three or four minutes he sat in meditation, still glancing at her furtively under his shaggy brows, while she waited for his decision.
"I don't approve of it at all," he said, at last.
"Don't say that," she pleaded. "I've hoped so much that you'd--"
"At the same time I won't say that the thing isn't feasible. I'll just verify these bonds and certificates, and--"
He took them, one by one, from the bag, and, having compared them with the list, replaced them.
"And," he continued, "you can come and see me again at this time to-morrow."
"Oh, thank you!"
"You can thank me when I've done something--not before. Very likely I sha'n't do anything at all. But in the mean while you may leave your satchel here, and not run the risk of being robbed in the street. If I refuse you to-morrow--as is probable I shall--I'll send a man with you to see you and your money safely back to Hargous."
He touched a bell, and a young man entered. On directions from the banker the clerk left the room, taking the bag with him; while Diane, feeling that her errand had been largely accomplished, rose to leave.
"You can't go without the receipt for your securities. How do you know I'm not stealing them from you? What right would you have to claim them when you came again? Sit down now and tell me something more about yourself."
Half smiling, half tearfully, Diane complied. Before the clerk returned she had given a brief outline of her life, agreeing in all but the tone of telling with much of what Mr. Grimston had stated half an hour earlier.
"It has been all my fault," she declared, as the young man re-entered. "There's been nobody to blame but me."
"I see that well enough," the old man agreed, and once more she prepared to depart.
"Look at your receipt. Compare it with the list there on the desk." Diane obeyed, though her eyes swam so that she could not tell one word from another. "Is it all right? Then so much the better. You'll find me at the same time to-morrow--if you're not late."
"Since you won't let me thank you, I must go without doing so," she began, tremulously, "but I assure you--"
"You needn't assure me of anything, but just come again to-morrow."
She smiled through the mist over her eyes, and bowed.
"I shall not be--late," was all she ventured to say, and turned to leave him.
She had reached the door, and half opened it, when she heard his voice behind her.
"Stay! Just a minute! I'd like to shake hands with you, young woman."
Diane turned and allowed him to take her hand in a grip that hurt her. She was so astounded by the suddenness of the act, as well as by the rapidity with which he closed the door behind her, that her tears did not actually fall until she found herself in the public department of the bank, outside.