So Montague visited the Snow Palace again, and met Winton Duval, the banker,—­a tall, military-looking man of about fifty, with a big grey moustache, and bushy eyebrows, and the head of a lion.  His was one of the city’s biggest banking-houses, and in alliance with powerful interests in the Street.  At present he was going in for mines in Mexico and South America, and so he was very seldom at home.  He was a man of most rigid habits—­he would come back unexpectedly after a month’s trip, and expect to find everything ready for him, both at home and in his office, as if he had just stepped round the corner.  Montague observed that he took his menu-card and jotted down his comments upon each dish, and then sent it down to the chef.  Other people’s dinners he very seldom attended, and when his wife gave her entertainments, he invariably dined at the club.

He pleaded a business engagement for the evening; and as brother Dan did not appear, Montague did not learn any bridge.  The other four guests settled down to the game, and Montague and Mrs. Winnie sat and chatted, basking before the fireplace in the great entrance-hall.

“Have you seen Charlie Carter?” was the first question she asked him.

“Not lately,” he answered; “I met him at Harvey’s.”

“I know that,” said she.  “They tell me he got drunk.”

“I’m afraid he did,” said Montague.

“Poor boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Winnie.  “And Alice saw him!  He must be heartbroken!”

Montague said nothing.  “You know,” she went on, “Charlie really means well.  He has honestly an affectionate nature.”

She paused; and Montague Said, vaguely, “I suppose so.”

“You don’t like him,” said the other.  “I can see that.  And I suppose now Alice will have no use for him, either.  And I had it all fixed up for her to reform him!”

Montague smiled in spite of himself.

“Oh, I know,” said she.  “It wouldn’t have been easy.  But you’ve no idea what a beautiful boy Charlie used to be, until all the women set to work to ruin him.”

“I can imagine it,” said Montague; but he did not warm to the subject.

“You’re just like my husband,” said Mrs. Winnie, sadly.  “You have no use at all for anything that’s weak or unfortunate.”

There was a pause.  “And I suppose,” she said finally, “you’ll be turning into a business man also—­with no time for anybody or anything.  Have you begun yet?”

—­“Not yet,” he answered.  “I’m still looking round.”

“I haven’t the least idea about business,” she confessed.  “How does one begin at it?”

“I can’t say I know that myself as yet,” said Montague, laughing.

“Would you like to be a protege of my husband’s?” she asked.

The proposition was rather sudden, but he answered, with a smile, “I should have no objections.  What would he do with me?”

“I don’t know that.  But he can do whatever he wants down town.  And he’d show you how to make a lot of money if I asked him to.”  Then Mrs. Winnie added, quickly, “I mean it—­he could do it, really.”