“I’m connected with a leading insurance company, sir. I receive what I take to be an invitation from these—ladies” (he drawled the word). “I come, and it’s to have my brain picked. I ask you, is it fair?”
“Highly unfair,” said Mr. Wilcox, drawing a gasp from Evie, who knew that her father was becoming dangerous.
“There, you hear that? Most unfair, the gentleman says. There! Not content with”—pointing at Margaret—“you can’t deny it.” His voice rose: he was falling into the rhythm of a scene with Jacky. “But as soon as I’m useful it’s a very different thing. ‘Oh yes, send for him. Cross-question him. Pick his brains.’ Oh yes. Now, take me on the whole, I’m a quiet fellow: I’m law-abiding, I don’t wish any unpleasantness; but I—I—”
“You,” said Margaret—“you—you—”
Laughter from Evie, as at a repartee.
“You are the man who tried to walk by the Pole Star.”
More laughter.
“You saw the sunrise.”
Laughter.
“You tried to get away from the fogs that are stifling us all—away past books and houses to the truth. You were looking for a real home.”