Stella nodded assent.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know why you should imagine that it could offend me to hear you say that.  I understood that amongst you who control the money-markets there is no friendship, nor any right and wrong.  At least if there is, it is the man who succeeds who is right, and the man who fails who is wrong.”

“To a certain extent you are right, Miss Duge,” he answered, “but you must remember that there is an old adage, ‘Honour amongst thieves!’”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Well,” she said, “we won’t discuss that.  You have got so far in your story as to tell me that you believe my father is trying to get the best of you all, and you seem to be a little nervous about it.  Well, I know my father, and I don’t mind telling you that I should not be in the least surprised if you were right.”

He lit a cigarette and passed the box across the table to her.

“Good!” he said.  “It is a pleasure to talk to you, Miss Duge.  You grasp everything so quickly.  Now you understand the position, then.  There are three or four of us, including myself, on one side, and your father on the other.  Supposing it was in your power to help either, and your interests lay with us,” he added, speaking with a certain meaning in his tone—­“well, to cut it short, how should you feel about it?”

“You mean,” she said slowly, “would my filial devotion outweigh—­other considerations?”

He looked at her admiringly.

“You are a marvel, Miss Duge,” he said.  “That is exactly what I do mean.”

She leaned back in her chair for a moment, and looked thoughtfully through the little cloud of cigarette smoke into the face of the man opposite to her.

“You have probably heard,” she said, “that my father turned me out of his house.”

“There was a rumour—­” he began hesitatingly.

“Oh! it was no rumour,” she interrupted.  “He took care that every one knew that I had given Norris Vine some information about his doings in Canadian Pacifies.  If I were back at home, which I never shall be, I would do the same thing again.  I have lived with my father since I came back from Europe, and I know what manner of a man he is.  I think,” she continued, looking away from him, and speaking more thoughtfully, “that I was just like the average girl when I came back to New York.  I lived with my father for two or three years, and—­well—­it would be a severe lesson for any one.  However, this doesn’t matter.  And I am not over-sensitive.  If you have anything to say to me, say it.”

“I will,” he answered.  “We have an idea that at any moment there may be war between us and your father.  I think that the odds would be very much in our favour but for one thing.  Your father has a paper which we foolishly enough all signed one night, which places us practically in his power.  If that paper were given to the Press, we should all of us be ruined men—­I mean so far as prestige and position are concerned.  Further, I am not sure that we should not have to leave the country altogether.”