The new-comer shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t believe in private tutors,” he remarked.
“That scarcely affects the question,” Mr. Ravenor answered, a little haughtily. “Are you ready for me, Marx?”
“I shall be presently. I had very nearly finished when the sound of voices tempted me out to see whom you had admitted into your august presence. You have not completed the introduction.”
Mr. Ravenor turned to me with a slight frown upon his fine forehead.
“Morton,” he said, “this is Mr. Marx, my private secretary and collaborator.”
We exchanged greetings, and I looked at him with revived interest. The man who was worthy to work with Mr. Ravenor must be a scholar indeed, and, on the whole, Mr. Marx looked it. I almost forgave him his supercilious speech and patronising manner.
“You have quite settled, then, to send this young man to Dr. Randall’s?” Mr. Marx said calmly.
“I have. There are one or two more matters which I have not yet mentioned to him, so I shall be glad to see you again in half an hour,” Mr. Ravenor remarked, glancing at his watch.
Mr. Marx nodded to me in a not unfriendly manner, and, lifting a curtain, which I had not noticed before, disappeared into a smaller apartment.