“Miss MacDowell,” he said, in a low, intense tone, leaning over the desk and pointing his plump forefinger toward the window as if he was about to refer to the dust that adhered to the panes of glass. “Have you had time to make out that list yet?”
“Which list, Dr. Tanner?”
“The pass marks in ancient history. The pass marks, I mentioned yesterday. The pass marks, Miss MacDowell.”
“No, not yet.”
“I see—not yet,” he repeated, straightening up and pressing his little finger nail between his lips. For a moment he seemed on the verge of decision. Then, bending forward again he pointed toward the window.
“Listen, Miss MacDowell,” he said in a very loud tone. “Delay it. Delay it. I may not want them, you see? I may not want them. No. I may amalgamate the pass marks in one lump, Miss MacDowell.”
Then he lowered his voice again.
“You can keep them here, can’t you?”
“Yes, Dr. Tanner.”