“What else could he have meant by it?” Millicent asked, her eager face demanding reply.
“Well, as we are assuming he meant Miss Lindsay—and we’ve no real right to assume that,” Pollard smiled at the girl, “we may say he only meant to cut Gleason out, and gaining the lady’s hand himself, make it impossible for Gleason to hope any more.”
“That’s an idea,” Lane said, “but you’d hardly think if that was in Barry’s mind he would have worded his note just as he did.”
“Yes he would,” put in Louis. “Barry’s a temperamental chap, and he’d say anything. I know him—I like him, but he does do and say queer things.”
“All artists do,” Pollard observed.
Millicent and Lane went off to another room to discuss some business matters and Louis followed.
“I’m glad you didn’t mention that money before Lane,” Pollard said; “it’s wiser not to.”
“Why?” and Phyllis looked at him curiously. But her eyes fell before his gaze, and a faint blush rose to her cheek.
“Because—forgive me if I seem intrusive—because I think you want it for a purpose you don’t care to talk about. And if so, the least said the better.”
“You’re right, Mr Pollard,” and Phyllis looked troubled, “I don’t want anything said about it. Also, I don’t want it in a check—that I should have to endorse. Can’t I have cash?”