“Mr. Stewart has a decided sense of humor,” commented David Linnell. “But I’d sooner he took liberties with my ‘amour propre’ than with my pocket.”
Peter laughed.
“Some people wouldn’t,” continued Linnell, determined to justify himself, “but I would. And even if he is a millionaire—to put four words where he could have used one—should have used one in fact, is just a piece of reckless and shameless waste—and that’s all there is to it.”
He turned to Daventry, proudly conscious that he was safeguarding an important principle.
“I think I’ll go myself and have a glance at the stuff to-morrow, Peter—after all he’s a millionaire—and business is business. Where did you lunch?”
“At the ‘Violette,’ ” was the reply. “And, by the by, whatever you do—don’t upset the cruet.”
“What do you mean?” Linnell looked at him curiously.
Peter recounted the incident that had occurred earlier in the day.
“Probably quite an accident,” he concluded, “and a coincidence—still it took my breath away, as it were, for just the moment.”
Linnell thought for a moment or two. “Probably nothing in it, Peter. You had the thing on your mind and were over-imaginative. What are you doing to-night? Anything special?”