“Don’t know about that.”
“But you were so emphatic.”
“I can change my mind, can’t I? His letter puts a different complexion on it.”
“But, Ocky, Barrington isn’t two-faced. He doesn’t say one thing to me and another thing to you. He may be awkward, but he isn’t underhand. If he’s in favor of your schemes now, he must have heard something that’s changed him.”
“Not a doubt of it. Very soon a good many people who’ve thought me small beer’ll hear something.”
“But you’ve not answered my question. Where are you going to see him?”
“Oh, maybe at his office.”
Whistling, with feigned cheerfulness, he strolled out. As she watched him slouch down the road, her fingers itched to correct the angle of his hat.
That night she searched his pockets and found the letter. It read, “Mr. Wagstaff has told me the truth. You must meet me at my place of business at twelve to-morrow.”
It was capable of the construction her husband had put on it; it was capable of many others.