THE
SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON,
BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."

BOOK III.
CHAPTER VI. TROUBLE IN THE HOUSE.

DURING these days some gigantic financial
negotiations were beginning to absorb the
attention of the great society to which Mr. Tillotson
belonged. Not alone was the business of
the Foncier Company developing to an extraordinary
degree, but other societies were springing
up every day. " You looked out in the morning,"
said Mr. Bowater, "and there was the
ground thick with 'em, like mushrooms." And
there was work for all. But of these there was
one started about six months after the Foncier,
its most dangerous rival, managed with equal
skill, and in popularity and resources just
inferior by that six months exactly. This was
called the General Finance, and was administered
by a daring chairman, Mr. Dundee, also in
parliament, and by a dashing Woods Marshall.
Dundee and Woods Marshall both well knew
the power of the steed they were riding, and at
the proper time meant to give him his head,
pass the Foncier, and win easily. Mr. Bowater
and Smiles had an uneasy sense of the
possibility of such a thing, and were straining every
nerve. A financial fury raged between the two
houses. Even Mr. Tillotson, for the moment,
was drawn into the excitement of this rivalry,
and as Mr. Bowater had said, again and again,
that   "Tillotson had a long head—as long as
any of us," he was sitting late and early, morning
and evening, and also at little cabinet
councils called hastily at dead of night, weary
and impatient at the strange little troubles, the
incomprehensible clouds, that waited for him at
home. There was an excitement in all this
which had great interest for him, though at
times he recollected himself with a sigh, and
thought why it was he could feel interested in
such things. But a greater and more absorbing
crisis was drawing on. There was a smaller
financial society, called the London Loan and
Discount, older than either of the other two,
and perhaps a little old fashioned. Both secretary
and chairman were old fashioned also, and
liked what they called " steady-going business,"
which they certainly got. The " dashing"
style of the newer companies injured them a
great deal — an injury they at first met with
contempt, then with affected indifference, and
finally with alarm. By-and-by things grew worse
—for a monetary ill health turns to disease with
surprising rapidity— and then came meetings,
and consultations, and dissatisfied shareholders,
and a whisper of winding up.

At the Foncier one morning, during these
early difficulties, which were not suspected, the
secretary came into council with an extraordinary
mystery. There was elation in his face.
" Such news!" he said. " But to be kept dark
—not a word—not a whisper! I suspected it
this month past, and put Gibbs on the track.
The London Loan is going to wind up. And
now is our time!"

Mr. Bowater and other members of the board
understood the full force of this news. The
first gentleman nearly jumped from his chairman's
chair. Even Mr. Tillotson was a little
excited. " This is news," he said.

"Now is our time," went on the eager
secretary. " We can strike in, and do the
General Finance. But we must be cautious; not
a breath— not a whisper. They will be sniffing
it out, and a day's pull on them will be
something."

Financial eyes kindled as the secretary laid
before them details of the little plot. The
London Loan was to be approached in the most
delicate way— not openly or officially —and he
looked at Mr. Tillotson. It was finally agreed
that Mr. Tillotson, not being conspicuously in
the business, should take the matter in hand. It
might have been a treaty with a great country,
and he an envoy receiving his credentials.

"You know you managed that Bhootan thing
very nicely, Tillotson," said Mr. Bowater,
complimentarily.

He was gradually, as we have mentioned,
catching the spirit of excitement which
pervaded the others. He went home in some
elation. There, he would have liked to have told
his schemes and little plot; but between them
during dinner, over the little round table at
which they sat, hung a dark cloud. On her
face was the same expression of settled resentment;
nothing would conciliate her. He tried
again and again, until habit came, and with a
sort of bitter " Ah! it was a mistake—- a miserable
mistake!" he came to accept the whole as