But Henry would not guess, and Snyder rang the bell for Geraldine.
'Miss Foster,' he addressed the puzzling creature in a casual tone, 'did you draw that cheque for Mr. Knight?'
And she respectfully brought in a cheque, which Mr. Snyder signed.
'There!' said he, handing it to Henry. 'What do you think of that?'
It was a cheque for one thousand and eighty pounds. Gordon and Brothers, the greatest publishing firm of the United States, had paid six thousand dollars for the right to publish serially _A Question of Cubits_, and Mark Snyder's well-earned commission on the transaction amounted to six hundred dollars.
'Things are looking up,' Henry stammered, feebly facetious.
'It's nearly a record price,' said Snyder complacently. 'But you're a sort of a record man. And when they believe in a thing over there, they aren't afraid of making money talk and say so.'
'Nay, nay!' thought Henry. 'This is too much! This beats everything! Either I shall wake up soon or I shall find myself in a lunatic asylum.' He was curiously reminded of the conjuring performance at the Alhambra.
A large grandiose notion swept over him that he had a great mission in the world.
'That's all I have to say to you,' said Mark Snyder pawkily.
Henry wanted to breathe instantly the ampler ether of the street, but on his way out he found Geraldine in rapid converse with the middle-aged and magnificently-dressed woman who thought that a lift could go up and down at once. They became silent.
'_Good_-morning, Miss Foster,' said Henry hurriedly.
Then a pause occurred, very brief but uncomfortable, and the stranger glanced in the direction of the window.
'Let me introduce you to Mrs. Ashton Portway,' said Geraldine. 'Mrs. Portway, Mr. Knight.'
Mrs. Portway bent forward her head, showed her teeth, smiled, laughed, and finally sniggered.
'So glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Knight!' she burst out loudly and uncontrollably, as though Geraldine's magic formula had loosened a valve capable of withstanding enormous strains. Then she smiled, laughed, and sniggered: not because she imagined that she had achieved humour, but because that was her way of making herself agreeable. If anybody had told her that she could not open her mouth without sniggering, she would have indignantly disbelieved the statement. Nevertheless it was true. When she said the weather was changeable, she sniggered; when she hoped you were quite well, she sniggered; and if circumstances had required her to say that she was sorry to hear of the death of your mother, she would have sniggered.
