Vandeloup sat down and stated his business briefly.

‘I want you to buy me some Magpie Reef shares,’ he said, leaning on the table.

‘Many?’ dropped out of Polglaze’s mouth, and then it shut again with a snap.  ‘Depends on the price,’ replied Vandeloup, with a shrug; ’I see in the papers they are four shillings.’

Mr Polglaze took up his share book, and rapidly turned over the leaves—­found what he wanted, and nodded.

‘Oh!’ said Vandeloup, making a rapid mental calculation, ’then buy me two thousand five hundred.  That will be about five hundred pounds’ worth.’

Mr Polglaze nodded; then whistled.

‘Your commission, I presume,’ said Vandeloup, making another calculation, ‘will be threepence?’

‘Sixpence,’ interrupted the stockbroker.

‘Oh, I thought it was threepence,’ answered Vandeloup, quietly; ’however, that does not make any difference to me.  Your commission at that rate will be twelve pounds ten shillings?’

Polglaze nodded again, and sat looking at Vandeloup like a stony mercantile sphinx.

‘If you will, then, buy me these shares,’ said Vandeloup, rising, and taking up his gloves and hat, ’when am I to come along and see you?’

‘Four,’ said Polglaze.

Today?’ inquired Vandeloup.

A nod from the stockbroker.

‘Very well,’ said Vandeloup, quietly, ’I’ll give you a cheque for the amount, then.  There’s nothing more to be said, I believe?’ and he walked over to the door.

‘Say!’ from Polglaze.

‘Yes,’ replied Gaston, indolently, swinging his stick to and fro.

‘New?’ inquired the stockbroker.

‘You mean to this sort of thing?’ said Vandeloup, looking at him, and receiving a nod in token of acquiescence, added, ‘entirely.’

‘Risky,’ dropped from the Polglaze mouth.  ’I never knew a gold mine that wasn’t,’ retorted Vandeloup, dryly.

‘Bad,’ in an assertive tone, from Polglaze.

‘This particular mine, I suppose you mean?’ said Gaston, with a yawn, ’very likely it is.  However, I’m willing to take the risk.  Good day!  See you at four,’ and with a careless nod, M. Vandeloup lounged out of the office.

He walked along Collins Street, met a few friends, and kept a look-out for Kitty.  He, however, did not see her, but there was a surprise in store for him, for turning round into Swanston Street, he came across Archie McIntosh.  Yes, there he was, with his grim, severe Scotch face, with the white frill round it, and Gaston smiled as he saw the old man, dressed in rigid broadcloth, casting disproving looks on the pretty girls walking along.

‘A set o’ hizzies,’ growled the amiable Archie to himself, ‘prancin’ alang wi’ their gew-gaws an’ fine claes, like war horses—­the daughters o’ Zion that walk wi’ mincin’ steps an’ tinklin’ ornaments.’

‘How do you do?’ said Vandeloup, touching the broadcloth shoulder; upon which McIntosh turned.