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"Absolutely!" they both agreed.

"Now let's get off, then," Matthew suggested. "I'll show you where my gods are enshrined."

They walked down Threadneedle and Lombard streets, and Matthew rolled off the names on the brass plates with amazing familiarity.

"Here they are," he pointed out. "The men in the bank parlours are the governors of the world to-day. It's a place in there I covet. I don't want to sit in a row behind the plate-glass windows, but back in the private room, with a Turkey carpet beneath my feet, a mahogany desk before me, and half a dozen telephones by my side. I want my private secretary to enter the room on tiptoe—will I see an emissary from the Governors of the Bank of England?—a financial secretary to the Treasury is waiting—the greatest of American millionaires is anxious for me to lunch with him! Come along this way."

He led them to the front of the Stock Exchange. Rosina and Philip looked with amazement at the surging crowds of well-dressed men. The thrill of money-making was in the air. The shadow of unwholesome anxiety seemed lurking in the faces of the men who streamed in and out of the great building.