Roger rose, seated himself, lit a fresh cigarette. “Can’t do it,” he said curtly. “Let’s say no more about it. Don’t think me rude or unappreciative. But—you must take my decision as final.”
“I’m older than you, Wade—twice as old. You are a young man, just starting. I’m about all in. So, I don’t feel that I’m impertinent in pressing you.”
Again Roger rose. This time he went to the edge of the veranda. At the steps he turned suddenly. “Don’t think me unappreciative, sir,” said he, “but this is painful to me—very painful.”
Richmond put on a most effective air of apology. “I’m sorry—I beg your pardon—I did not mean to intrude upon your private affairs. I was assuming you were free. It never occurred to me that there might be obligations over there——”
“I am free!” cried Roger. “At least, I was. And I intend to be so again. But—enough of this—of me. I’ll send you the picture— No, I’ll see that it is sent on Saturday.”
Richmond regarded the young man with the eyes of a father and a friend. He went up to him, laid one hand affectionately on his arm. “I know you don’t want to leave America—give up your ambition—the one that brought you here, so d’Artois says. Tell me. Can’t it be arranged somehow?”
“Impossible,” said Roger.
Richmond laughed gently. “A word for boys and for old failures.... Can’t you induce her to live on this side of the water?”
Roger looked puzzled.
“It’s always a woman,” said Richmond, eyes twinkling. “If she really cares for you she’ll live wherever your career demands.”