"I'll tell you when I've done."

"That won't do! I must know the amount first."

He handed her back her papers for the second time. Mrs.
Westerfield's experience of poverty had never been the experience
of such independence as this. In sheer bewilderment, she yielded
again. He took back the original cipher, and locked it up in his
desk. "Call here this day week," he said--and returned to his
book.

"You are not very polite," she told him, on leaving the room.

"At any rate," he answered, "I don't interrupt people when they
are reading."

The week passed.

Repeating her visit, Mrs. Westerfield found him still seated at
his desk, still surrounded by his books, still careless of the
polite attentions that he owed to a lady.

"Well?" she asked, "have you earned your money?"

"I have found the clew."

"What is it?" she burst out. "Tell me the substance. I can't wait
to read."