In a handsomely appointed room of one of the largest hotels in London a man was sitting at the head of a table strewn with blotting-paper and writing materials of every description.

Half a dozen chairs had been carelessly pushed back, there were empty champagne bottles upon the sideboard, the air was faintly odorous of tobacco smoke--blue wreaths were still curling upwards towards the frescoed ceiling.

Yet the gathering had not been altogether a festive one.

There were sheets of paper still lying about covered with figures, a brass-bound ledger lay open at the further end of the table, In the background a young man, slim, pale, ill-dressed in sober black, was filling a large tin box with documents and letters.
It had been a meeting of giants.

Men whose names were great in the world of finance had occupied those elaborately decorated leather chairs.
There had been cynicism, criticism, and finally enthusiasm.