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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

Her breathing troubled her as she
regarded him, and tried to take in the meaning of his words.
"Do you mean--you've been lying to me about--about
your Company?" she asked, confusedly.
"No--no--not at all," he replied, now all genial heartiness.
"No--what I told you was gospel truth--but I was taking
a rise out of you all the same." He seemed so unaffectedly
pleased by his achievement in kindly duplicity that she
forced an awkward smile to her lips.
"I don't understand in the least," she said, striving to
remember what he had told her. "What you said was
that the public had entirely failed to come in--that
there weren't enough applications for shares to pay
flotation expenses--those were your own words. Of course,
I don't pretend to understand these City matters--but it
IS the case, isn't it, that if people don't subscribe
for the shares of a new company, then the company is a failure?"
"Yes, that may be said to be the case--as a general rule,"
he nodded at her, still beaming.
"Well, then--of course--I don't understand," she owned.
"I don't know as you'll understand it much more when I've
explained it to you," he said, seating himself, and motioning
her to the other chair. "But yes, of course you will.
You're a business woman. You know what figures mean.
And really the whole thing is as simple as A B C.


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