Aloud he said nothing, but just nodded; it was a belief that had translated itself into a habit—to let the other man explain first.
“I know I’m interrupting you, Mr. Cord,” Verriman began. Mr. Cord made a lateral gesture with his hand, as if all he had were at the disposal of his friends, even his most precious asset—time.
“It’s something very important,” Eddie went on. “I’m worried. I haven’t slept. Mr. Cord, have you checked up Crystal’s economic beliefs lately?”
“Lately?” said Mr. Cord. “I don’t know that I ever have. Have a cigar?”
Eddie waved the cigar aside as if his host had offered it to him in the midst of a funeral service.
“Well, I have,” he said, as if some one had to do a parent’s duty, “and I’ve been very much distressed—shocked. I had a long talk with her about it at the dance last night.”
“About economics?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why, Eddie, don’t I seem to remember your telling me you were in love with Crystal?”
“Yes, Mr. Cord, I am.”