“You are very clever,” he said, with a little sigh.
She laughed outright.
“People are calling you the cleverest man in London to-day,” she said.
“Pshaw! It isn't the cleverness that counts for anything that makes money.”
Then he set his teeth hard together and swore vigorously but silently. She had become suddenly interested in her work. A shrill burst of laughter from the lawn in front had rung sharply out, startling them both. A young woman with fluffy hair and in a pale blue dinner-dress was dancing to an unseen audience. Trent's eyes flashed with anger, and his cheeks burned. The dance was a music-hall one, and the gestures were not refined. Before he could stop himself an oath had broken from his lips. After that he dared not even glance at the girl by his side.
“I'm very sorry,” he muttered. “I'll stop that right away.”
“You mustn't disturb your friends on my account,” she said quietly. She did not look up, but Trent felt keenly the alteration in her manner.
“They're not my friends,” he exclaimed passionately “I'll clear them out neck and crop.”
She looked up for a moment, surprised at his sudden vehemence. There was no doubt about his being in earnest. She continued her work without looking at him, but her tone when she spoke was more friendly.
“This will take me a little longer than I thought to finish properly,” she said. “I wonder might I come down early to-morrow morning? What time do you leave for the City?”