"How do you do, Mr. Gillie?"
"How are you?" returned Jimmie with an indifferent nod as he nursed his crushed fingers behind his back.
Stafford beamed good-naturedly on all three. He looked genuinely glad to see them, and this immediately set his guests at their ease. He may not have really felt the cordial welcome he gave them, but he looked as if they were just the people whose society he enjoyed most, a happy knack which some men possess of adapting themselves to their environments, and which had always been the secret of his popularity with men and women both. His manner was so natural, so free from restraint and pose, that even Fanny, timid and nervous as she was, felt reassured.
But while he was affable with all, he had eyes only for Virginia. The others he would willingly have dispensed with, especially the shipping clerk, whom he had sized up with one quick glance. He winced as he took note of the man's cheap, ready-made clothes and boorish manners. Decidedly he was quite impossible, but for the pleasure of a few moment's tête-à-tête with Virginia, he was ready to make any sacrifice—even to meet on equal social terms a Mr. Gillie.
"Are you quite sure," he went on apologetically, "that I am forgiven for keeping you waiting? Believe me, it was absolutely unavoidable or it wouldn't have happened."
"Oh, yes," rejoined Virginia quickly, "we're quite sure of that."
The host turned to the Japanese butler, who was busy at the table, placing the empty cocktail glasses on the tray.
"Did you explain thoroughly, Oku?" he asked.
The man looked up.
"Yes, sir. I tell you have big meeting and say 'very much excuse, please.'"