“You might give me a letter to your tailors, Sir Richard,” he begged.
Sir Richard laughed outright—it was some time since he had laughed!
“You shall have it, Peter Ruff,” he declared, raising his glass—“and here’s to you!”
CHAPTER III. VINCENT CAWDOR, COMMISSION AGENT
For the second time since their new association, Peter Ruff had surprised that look upon his secretary’s face. This time he wheeled around in his chair and addressed her.
“My dear Violet,” he said, “be frank with me. What is wrong?”
Miss Brown turned to face her employer. Save for a greater demureness of expression and the extreme simplicity of her attire, she had changed very little since she had given up her life of comparative luxury to become Peter Ruff’s secretary. There was a sort of personal elegance which clung to her, notwithstanding her strenuous attempts to dress for her part, except for which she looked precisely as a private secretary and typist should look. She even wore a black bow at the back of her hair.
“I have not complained, have I?” she asked.
“Do not waste time,” Peter Ruff said, coldly. “Proceed.”