The manager entered awkwardly. He had the constrained air of a man who has come on an unpleasant errand, but wants to be as amiable as the circumstances will permit.
"You didn't expect me, did you?" he began.
Shutting the front door, Underwood led the way back into the sitting room, and making an effort to control his nerves, said:
"Sit down, won't you?"
But Mr. Bennington merely bowed stiffly. It was evident that he did not wish his call to be mistaken for a social visit.
"I haven't time, thank you. To be frank, my mission is rather a delicate one, Mr. Underwood."
Underwood laughed nervously. Affecting to misinterpret the other's meaning, he said:
"Yes, you're right. The art and antique business is a delicate business. God knows it's a precarious one!" Reaching for the decanter, he added: "Have a drink."
But Mr. Bennington refused to unbend. The proffer of refreshment did not tempt him to swerve from the object of his mission. While Underwood was talking, trying to gain time, his eyes were taking in the contents of the apartment.
"Come, take a drink," urged Underwood again.