'If I remember rightly, I asked you a question which you did not answer.

I asked you how much you paid for the mine.'

Kenyon was astonished at this peculiar kind of memory, that could forget a whole conversation, and yet remember accurately one detail of it.

However, he replied:

'Of course, at that time you had not said you would join us. I recognise that, if you are to be a partner, it is your right to know exactly what we pay for the mine. I may say that we have not paid for it, but have merely got an option on it at a certain price, and of course, if we can sell it for two hundred thousand pounds, we shall have a large amount to divide. Now, if you think you will go in with us, and do your best to make this project a success, I will tell you what our option is on the mica-mine.'

'Well, you see, I can hardly say that I will join you. It is really a very small matter. There ought not to be any difficulty in floating that mine on the London market, except that it is hardly worth one's while to take it up. Still, I should have to know exactly what you are to pay for the property before I went any further in the matter.'

'Very well, then, I tell you in confidence, and only because I expect you to become a partner with us, that the amount the mine is offered to us for is twenty thousand pounds.'

Young Longworth arched his eyegla.s.s.

'It cannot be worth very much if that is all they ask for it.'

'The price they ask for it has really nothing at all to do with the value of the mine. They do not know the value of it. They are not working it, even now, so as to bring out all there is in it. They are mining for mica, and, as I told you, the mineral which they are throwing away is very much more valuable than all the mica they can get out of the mine.

If it were worked rightly, the mica would pay all expenses, as well as a good dividend on fifty thousand pounds, while the other mineral would pay a large dividend on one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, or even two hundred thousand pounds.'

'I see. And you feel positive that there is enough of this mineral to hold out for some time?'

'Oh, I am positive of that. There is a whole mountain of it.'

'And do you get the mountain as well as the mine?'

'We get three hundred acres of it, and I think there would be no difficulty in buying the rest.'

'Well, that would seem to be a good speculation, and I am sure I hope you will succeed in forming your company. How much money are you prepared to spend in floating the mine?'

'I have practically nothing at all. My a.s.set, as it were, is the option I have on the mine.'

'Then, how are you going to pay the preliminary fees, the advertising in the newspapers, the cost of counsel, and all that? These expenses will amount to something very heavy in the formation of a company. Of course you know that.'

'Well, you see, I think that perhaps we can get two or three men to go into this and form our company quietly, without having any of those heavy expenses which are necessary in the forming of some companies.'

'My dear sir, when you have been in this business a little longer, you will be very much wiser. That cannot be done--at least, I do not believe it can be done. I do not know of its having been done, and if you can do it, you are a very much cleverer man than I am. Companies are not formed for nothing in the City of London. You seem to have the vaguest possible notion about how this sort of thing is managed. I may tell you frankly I do not think I can go in with you; I have too much else on hand.'

Although Kenyon expected this, he nevertheless felt a grim sense of defeat as the young man calmly said these words. Then he blurted out:

'If you had no idea of going in with us, why have you asked me certain questions about the property which I would not have answered if I had not thought you were going to take an interest in it?'

'My dear sir,' said the other blandly, 'you were at perfect liberty to answer those questions or not, as you chose. You chose to answer them, and you have no one to blame but yourself if you are sorry you have answered them. It really doesn't matter at all to me, as I shall forget all you have said in a day or two at furthest.'

'Very well; I have nothing more to say except that what I have told you has been said in confidence.'

'Oh, of course. I shall mention it to n.o.body.'

'Then I wish you good-day.'

Turning to the elder gentleman, he said:

'Good-day, Mr. Longworth.'

The old man raised his eyes rather abstractedly from the paper he was reading, and then cordially shook hands with Kenyon.

'If I can do anything,' he said, 'to help you in any matter you have on hand, I shall be very pleased to do it. I hope to see you succeed.

Good-day, Mr. Kenyon.'

'Good-day, Mr. Longworth.'

And with that the young man found himself again in the outer office, and shortly afterwards in the busy street, with a keen sense of frustration upon him. His first move in the direction of forming a company had been a disastrous failure; and thinking of this, he walked past the Mansion House and down Cheapside.

CHAPTER XVII.

John Kenyon walked along Cheapside feeling very much downhearted over his rebuff with Longworth. The pretended forgetfulness of the young man, of course, he took at its proper value. He, nevertheless, felt very sorry the interview had been so futile, and, instead of going back to Wentworth and telling him his experience, he thought it best to walk off a little of his disappointment first. He was somewhat startled when a man accosted him; and, glancing up, he saw standing there a tall footman, arrayed in a drab coat that came down to his heels.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the footman, 'but Miss Longworth would like to speak to you.'

'Miss Longworth!' cried Kenyon, in surprise; 'where is she?'

'She is here in her carriage, sir.'

The carriage had drawn up beside the pavement, and John Kenyon looked round in confusion to see that Miss Longworth was regarding him and the footman with an amused air. An elderly woman sat in the carriage opposite her, while a grave and dignified coachman, attired somewhat similarly to the footman, kept his place like a seated statue in front. John Kenyon took off his hat as he approached the young woman, whom he had not seen since the last day on the steamer.

'How are you, Mr. Kenyon?' said Edith Longworth brightly, holding out her hand to the young man by her carriage. 'Will you not step in? I want to talk with you, and I am afraid the police will not allow us to block such a crowded thoroughfare as Cheapside.'

As she said this, the nimble footman threw open the door of the carriage, while John, not knowing what to say, stepped inside and took his seat.

'Holborn,' said the young woman to the coachman; then, turning to Kenyon, she continued: 'Will you not tell me where you are going, so that I may know where to set you down?'

'To tell the truth,' said John, 'I do not think I was going anywhere.

I am afraid I have not yet got over the delight of being back in London again, so I sometimes walk along the streets in rather a purposeless manner.'

'Well, you did not seem delighted when I first caught sight of you. I thought you looked very dejected, and that gave me courage enough to ask you to come and talk with me. I said to myself, "There is something wrong with the mica-mine," and, with a woman's I curiosity, I wanted to know all about it. Now tell me.'

'There is really very little to tell. We have hardly begun yet.

Wentworth is to-day looking over the figures I gave him, and I have been making a beginning by seeing some people who I thought might be interested in the mine.'

'And were they?'

'No; they were not.'

'Then, that was the reason you were looking so distressed.'

'I suppose it was.'