"Quite well, Colonel, and yourself and Mrs. Peyton?"
The Colonel carefully deposited his stove-pipe hat bottom up on the desk top, spread his coat tails and sat down.
"Fine! Fine! Do you know, Oliver, you were a disgrace at my party yesterday?"
"Disgrace!" echoed Mills blankly, turning his bulging blue eyes on the Colonel.
"I had my eye on you. The way you carried on with Mrs. Stanley was a scandal. We are all much interested."
"I assure you," cried Mills earnestly, his naturally ruddy face deepening in colour, "you are quite mistaken, Colonel, quite. I esteem Mrs. Stanley and I am aware of her widowed condition and the extent of her property interests; but her possibility as an amorous vis-aà-vis never has entered my head!"
The Colonel eyed him with twinkling eyes.
"You greatly relieve my mind, Oliver," he said with entire gravity. "But I must get home to dinner to-day, so I cannot go further into your domestic troubles. I just dropped in to get a little money."
Mills was eyeing him suspiciously, evidently still red and indignant, but uncertain.
"Our cashier will fix you up—how much will you want?" reaching to strike a silver call bell.
But the Colonel restrained the movement.
"No, no, Oliver, it is not a matter of currency. You misunderstand me. I want a loan."
"How much?"
"I don't know—ten or fifteen thousand, I should think."
Mills reached for an indexed desk book and consulted it.
"Collateral security, Colonel?" he asked.
"No; put it on the property."
Mills closed the book slowly. He was evidently worried and a little embarrassed.
"Is this for personal use, Colonel?" he asked.
The Colonel straightened.
"Egad, Mr. Mills," he said gently. "I cannot see the bearing of that question. Is not my credit good?"
