“Yessir.”
I sat there wondering. If this business of his meant so much haste, why had he made Mr. Dundonald wait for it? Above all, what had I to do with it that I should be there at all?
We were alone again. He glanced at the clock, then wheeled round in his chair and faced me. He spoke with matter-of-fact politeness.
“Now, Miss Trant! I suppose you want to know what all this is about? Not only my bringing you on here, but about the whole of our past arrangement?”
Did I want to know? After all, what did it matter to me now? For me, all had been summed up in his dropping of my—of his name for me, and in the remembrance of another girl’s laughing face. What stones would he give her to wear? Not diamonds.... I said nothing.
“Shall I tell you,” he began again, “now?”
“Well, I don’t think any explanation was promised when you drew up that contract,” I said wearily. “I don’t really mind ... you needn’t trouble.” ...
“I might wish to clear it up,” he suggested. “Well, suppose we begin with this.”
He handed over to me the newspaper which seemed to have hurled such a bomb at him.