me but—”
“What?” inquired Mandeville after waiting in vain for the other to finish.
“Something which we will never find in the whirl of New York fashionable life. A woman with faith to reward and soul to understand such unqualified trust as yours.”
“But I believe Miss Preston is such a girl and will be such a woman. Her looks, her last words prove it.”
“Nothing proves it but time and as for your belief, I have believed too.” Then as if fearing he had said too much, assumed his most businesslike tone and observed, “But we will drop all that; you have resolved to quit music and enter Wall Street, your object money and the social consideration which money secures. Now, why Wall Street?”
“Because I can think of no other means for attaining what I desire, in the space of time I would consent to keep a young lady of Miss Preston’s position waiting.”
“Humph! and you have money, I suppose, which you propose to risk on the hazard?”
“Some! enough to start with; a small amount to you, but sufficient if I am fortunate.”
“And if you are not?”
The young man opened his arms with an expressive gesture, “I am done for, that is all.”
“Bertram,” his uncle exclaimed with a change of tone, “has it ever struck you that Mr. Preston might have as strong a prejudice against speculation as against the musical profession?”