"Not a great sum for the millionaire financier, Sir Arthur Deane, to raise on his note of hand.
A few months ago men offered me one hundred times the amount on no better security.

And now, to think that a set of jabbering fools in London should so destroy my credit and their own, that not a bank will discount our paper unless they are assured Lord Ventnor has joined the board! Fancy me, of all men, being willing to barter my child for a few pieces of gold!" The thought was maddening.

For a little while he yielded to utter despondency.

It was quite true that a comparatively small amount of money would restore the stability of his firm.

Even without it, were his credit unimpaired, he could easily tide over the period of depression until the first fruits of his enterprise were garnered.
Then, all men would hail him as a genius.
Wearily turning over his papers, he suddenly came across the last letter written to him by Iris's mother.