“In the past,” she said, “women of suitable age have not perhaps been willing to consider the question, but this lady seems to me distinctly willing.”
“More than willingness on the lady’s part has been needed,” answered Adelaide, and then Pringle’s ample form appeared in the doorway. “There’s a man from the office here, Madam, asking to see Mr. Farron.”
“Mr. Farron can see no one.” A sudden light flashed upon her. “What is his name, Pringle?”
“Burke, Madam.”
“Oh, let him come in.” Adelaide turned to Mrs. Baxter. “I will show you,” she said, “one of the finest sights you ever saw.” The next instant Marty was in the room. Not so gorgeous as in his wedding-attire, he was still an exceedingly fine young animal. He was not so magnificently defiant as before, but he scowled at his unaccustomed surroundings under his dark brows.
“It’s Mr. Farron I wanted to see,” he said, a soft roll to his r’s. At Mrs. Wayne’s Adelaide had suffered from being out of her own surroundings, but here she was on her own field, and she meant to make Burke feel it. She was leaning with her elbow on the back of the sofa, and now she slipped her bright rings down her slim fingers and shook them back again as she looked up at Burke and spoke to him as she would have done to a servant.
“Mr. Farron cannot see you.”
Cleverer people than Burke had struggled vainly against the poison of inferiority which this tone instilled into their minds.
“That’s what they keep telling me down-town. I never knew him sick before.”
“No?”