"It's thumping good of you and Mr. Huntley, dad," he said, aloud; "and I suppose it would do if I gave you my answer in a day or two."
"That's the girl," the father thought; but he obeyed Junia's injunction as to not being explicit when it came to words.
"You see, it's this way, Bob: It's not exactly an invitation that I'm giving you; it's—it's a decision of the bank of which you're an employee. We take it for granted that you'll go if we want to send you."
"And I take it for granted that you won't send me if I don't want to go."
Not to force the issue, Collingham left the matter there, preferring to consult Junia as to what he should do next. To this end, he drove home earlier than usual.
It added to Dauphin's irritation that Max should hear the motor first. With ears cocked like a donkey's, how could he help it? There was nothing in the world that Dauphin despised as he despised the police dog's ears. They were forever pointed, alert, inquisitive, ignoble. But there it was! Max was bounding down the driveway, covering yards at a spring, before the setter could drag himself from his haunches. It was Max, too, who, when the motor passed the oak, gave the first yelp of delight.
But it was Dauphin who, as his master descended from the car, entered into his depression. It was he, too, who perceived the conflict of auras when wife and husband met. Waves of unreasoned dread on the one side encountered a force of clear-eyed determination on the other as the weltering sea comes up against the steadfast rocks.
They began talking as they turned to enter the house, continuing the conversation within the great hall, where only the strip of red carpet running its length and up the fine stairway, two or three bits of old carved English oak, and the brass touches on the wrought-iron baluster, relieved the admirable nudity.
"Now come in here," she said, briskly, having heard all that had passed between him and Bob.
He followed her into the library, where she led the way to the desk.