Barbara laughed, that happy, delightful little laugh of hers, presumably at the accident with the knife.  Whether or no she “minded” did not appear, only she handed her handkerchief, a costly, last-fringed trifle, to Alan to wipe the gravy off his shirt, which he took thinking it was a napkin, and as she did so, touched his hand with a little caressing movement of her fingers.  Whether this was done by chance or on purpose did not appear either.  At least it made Alan feel extremely happy.  Also when he discovered what it was, he kept that gravy-stained handkerchief, nor did she ever ask for it back again.  Only once in after days when she happened to come across it stuffed away in the corner of a despatch-box, she blushed all over, and said that she had no idea that any man could be so foolish out of a book.

“Now that you are really clear of it, I am going for them,” she said presently when the wiping process was finished.  “I have only restrained myself for your sake,” and leaning back in her chair she stared at the ceiling, lost in meditation.

Presently there came one of those silences which will fall upon dinner-parties at times, however excellent and plentiful the champagne.

“Sir Robert Aylward,” said Barbara in that clear, carrying voice of hers, “will you, as an expert, instruct a very ignorant person?  I want a little information.”

“Miss Champers,” he answered, “am I not always at your service?” and all listened to hear upon what point their hostess desired to be enlightened.

“Sir Robert,” she went on calmly, “everyone here is, I believe, what is called a financier, that is except myself and Major Vernon, who only tries to be and will, I am sure, fail, since Nature made him something else, a soldier and—­what else did Nature make you, Alan?”

As he vouchsafed no answer to question, although Sir Robert muttered an uncomplimentary one between his lips which Barbara heard, or read, she continued: 

“And you are all very rich and successful, are you not, and are going to be much richer and much more successful—­next week.  Now what I want to ask you is—­how is it done?”

“Accepting the premises for the sake of argument, Miss Champers,” replied Sir Robert, who felt that he could not refuse the challenge, “the answer is that it is done by finance.”

“I am still in the dark,” she said.  “Finance, as I have heard of it, means floating companies, and companies are floated to earn money for those who invest in them.  Now this afternoon as I was dull, I got hold of a book called the Directory of Directors, and looked up all your names in it, except those of the gentlemen from Paris, and the companies that you direct—­I found out about those in another book.  Well, I could not make out that any of these companies have ever earned any money, a dividend, don’t you call it?  Therefore how do you all grow so rich, and why do people invest in them?”