“Not particularly,” said he, shrugging his shoulders.  “Only here is a woman whom I would have liked to know, and I don’t know her.  That’s all.”

Lucy gave him a sly glance.  “You need a sister,” she said, smiling. 
“Somebody to fight for you!”

* * *

According to Jim Hegan’s prediction, it was not long before Montague received an offer.  It came from a firm of lawyers of whom he had never heard.  “We understand,” ran the letter, “that you have a block of five thousand shares of the stock of the Northern Mississippi Railroad.  We have a client on whose behalf we are authorised to offer you fifty thousand dollars cash for these shares.  Will you kindly consult with your client, and advise us at your earliest convenience?”

He called up Lucy on the ’phone and told her that the offer had come.

“How much?” she asked eagerly.

“It is not satisfactory,” he said.  “But I would rather not discuss the matter over the ’phone.  How can I arrange to see you?”

“Can’t you send me up the letter by a messenger?” she asked.

“I could,” said Montague, “but I would like to talk with you about it; and also I have that mortgage, and the other papers for you to sign.  There are some things to be explained about these, also.  Couldn’t you come to my office this morning?”

“I would, Allan,” she said, “but I have just made a most important engagement, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Couldn’t it be postponed?” he asked.

“No,” she said.  “It’s an invitation to join a party on Mr. Waterman’s new yacht.”

“The Brunnhilde!” exclaimed Montague.  “You don’t say so!”

“Yes, and I hate to miss it,” said she.

“How long shall you be gone?” he asked.

“I shall be back sometime this evening,” she answered.  “We are going up the Sound.  The yacht has just been put into commission, you know.”

“Where is she lying?”

“Off the Battery.  I am to be on board in an hour, and I was just about to start.  Couldn’t you possibly meet me there?”

“Yes,” said Montague.  “I will come over.  I suppose they will wait a few minutes.”

“I am half dying to know about the offer,” said Lucy.

Montague had a couple of callers, which delayed him somewhat; finally he jumped into a cab and drove to the Battery.

Here, in the neighbourhood of Castle Garden, was a sheltered place popularly known as the “Millionaires’ Basin,” being the favourite anchorage of the private yachts of the “Wall Street flotilla.”  At this time of the year most of the great men had already moved out to their country places, and those of them who lived on the Hudson or up the Sound would come to their offices in vessels of every size, from racing motor-boats to huge private steamships.  They would have their breakfasts served on board, and would have their secretaries and their mail.