And she went on to detail at length and with much vivacity the merits and demerits of several plans for the summer she and her mother were considering. Richmond’s frown deepened. After five minutes he set down his empty cup and cut squarely across her stream of lively talk.
“The panels will be a good thing—from the financial standpoint,” said he, a note in his voice like a rap for undivided attention.
Beatrice glanced anxiously at Roger, said to her father: “Oh papa, don’t let us talk business. This is a party.”
“I came on business,” retorted Richmond. “And I know Wade wouldn’t thank us for coming if we were here just to fool away his time.”
“I usually knock off for chocolate at this hour,” said Roger. “About the panels, thank you very much, but I can’t do them.”
“Why not?” inquired Richmond, so much irritation in his tone that it was scarcely polite.
Roger looked amused. “I haven’t thought of the reason yet,” said he courteously. “If I change my mind later I’ll let you know.”
Richmond did not conceal his disgust with what seemed to him an exhibition of youthful egotism bordering on impertinence. Beatrice, eager for her father to get a favorable impression, looked woefully depressed. “You misunderstood me, Mr. Wade,” said he, resuming the Mr. to indicate his disapproval. “I did not offer you the commission.”
“And I didn’t accept it,” said Roger, laughing. “So, there’s no harm done. Let me give you some chocolate.”
“Thanks, no. We are going.” And the financier rose. “Come along, Beatrice.”