Later on in the day Oliver called up, and said that he was to go out to dinner the following evening, and that he would call for him at eight.  “It’s with the Jack Evanses,” Oliver added.  “Do you know them?”

Montague had heard the name, as that of the president of a chain of Western railroads.  “Do you mean him?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the other.  “They’re a rum crowd, but there’s money in it.  I’ll call early and explain it to you.”

But it was explained sooner than that.  During the next afternoon Montague had a caller—­none other than Mrs. Winnie Duval.  Some one had left Mrs. Winnie some more money, it appeared; and there was a lot of red tape attached to it, which she wanted the new lawyer to attend to.  Also, she said, she hoped that he would charge her a lot of money by way of encouraging himself.  It was a mere bagatelle of a hundred thousand or so, from some forgotten aunt in the West.

The business was soon disposed of, and then Mrs. Winnie asked Montague if he had any place to go to for dinner that evening:  which was the occasion of his mentioning the Jack Evanses.  “O dear me!” said Mrs. Winnie, with a laugh.  “Is Ollie going to take you there?  What a funny time you’ll have!”

“Do you know them?” asked the other.

“Heavens, no!” was the answer.  “Nobody knows them; but everybody knows about them.  My husband meets old Evans in business, of course, and thinks he’s a good sort.  But the family—­dear me!”

“How much of it is there?”

“Why, there’s the old lady, and two grown daughters and a son.  The son’s a fine chap, they say—­the old man took him in hand and put him at work in the shops.  But I suppose he thought that daughters were too much of a proposition for him, and so he sent them to a fancy school—­and, I tell you, they’re the most highly polished human specimens that ever you encountered!”

It sounded entertaining.  “But what does Oliver want with them?” asked Montague, wonderingly.

“It isn’t that he wants them—­they want him.  They’re cumbers, you know—­perfectly frantic.  They’ve come to town to get into Society.”

“Then you mean that they pay Oliver?” asked Montague.

“I don’t know that,” said the other, with a laugh.  “You’ll have to ask Ollie.  They’ve a number of the little brothers of the rich hanging round them, picking up whatever plunder’s in sight.”

A look of pain crossed Montague’s face; and she saw it, and put out her hand with a sudden gesture.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’ve offended you!”

“No,” said he, “it’s not that exactly—­I wouldn’t be offended.  But I’m worried about my brother.”

“How do you mean?”

“He gets a lot of money somehow, and I don’t know what it means.”

The woman sat for a few moments in silence, watching him.  “Didn’t he have any when he came here?” she asked.

“Not very much,” said he.