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"Why, to save people's money, of course," was the girl's ready answer. "Just like a bank, isn't it?"

Ilingsworth almost snorted. It was a strange colloquy, this conversation between the man of middle age and the girl. It had a curious interest that neither could have defined. The girl, on her part, felt that Ilingsworth represented, somehow, the criticism and abuse that the world was heaping on Peter V. Wilkinson. She wanted to estimate its full force, to weigh its import, and then to defend her father with every fibre of her being; Ilingsworth, on the other hand, felt the need of a confidant who would understand, for Elinor of the wistful eyes could only sympathise. This young woman knew what he was talking about.

"Miss Wilkinson," he burst out now, "you surprise me! I thought you were more of a business woman than I am a business man. But I find you're not. Let me explain it to you. Jones wants to run a factory; Smith wants to speculate in real estate; Robinson wants to buck the Wall Street game. Now they haven't got a dollar, so what do they do? They buy a trust company."