Mrs. Toomey was not too agitated to note how immaculate and dainty the dining room table looked with its fine linen and cut glass. There were six dices of apple with a nut on top on the handsome salad plates, and the crystal dessert dishes each held three prunes swimming in their rich juice.
The living-room, too, reflected Mrs. Pantin's taste. A framed motto extolling the virtues of friendship hung over the mantel and the "Blind Girl of Pompeii" groped her way down the staircase on the neutral-tinted wall. A bookcase filled with sets of the world's best literature occupied a corner of the room, while ooze leather copies of Henry Van Dyke gave an unmistakable look of culture to the mission table in the center of the room. A handsome leather davenport with a neat row of sofa pillows along the back, which were of Mrs. Pantin's own handiwork, suggested luxurious ease. But the chief attraction of the room was the brick fireplace with its spotless tiled hearth. One of Mr. Pantin's diversions was sitting before the glowing coals, whisk and shovel in hand, waiting for an ash to drop.
Seeing Mrs. Toomey, Mr. Pantin again hastily thrust his toes into his slippers--partly because he was cognizant of the fact that no real gentleman will receive a lady in his stocking feet, and partly to conceal the neat but large darn on the toe of one sock. He was courteous amiability itself, and Mrs. Toomey's hopes shot up.
"I came to have a little talk."
"Yes?"
Mr. Pantin's smile deceived her and she plunged on with confidence: "I--we would like to arrange for a loan, Mr. Pantin."
"To what amount, Mrs. Toomey?"
Mrs. Toomey considered.
"As much as you could conveniently spare."
The smile which Mr. Pantin endeavored to conceal was genuine.
"For what length of time?"
Mrs. Toomey had not thought of that.
"I could not say exactly--not off-hand like this--but I presume only until my husband gets into something."
"Has he--er--anything definite in view?"
"I wouldn't say definite, not definite, but he has several irons in the fire and we expect to hear soon."
"I see." Mr. Pantin's manner was urbane but, observing him closely, Mrs. Toomey noted that his eyes suddenly presented the curious illusion of two slate-gray pools covered with skim ice. It was not an encouraging sign and her heart sank in spite of the superlative suavity of the tone in which he inquired: "What security would you be able to give, Mrs. Toomey?"
Security? Between friends? She had not expected this.
"I--I'm afraid I--we haven't any, Mr. Pantin. You know we lost everything when we lost the ranch. But you're perfectly safe--you needn't have a moment's anxiety about that."