A momentary impulse of kindness did battle with her invincible dislike of the man.
“You must remember,” she urged, “that yours is a glorious work; that our thoughts and gratitude are with you.”
“But are they?” he demanded, with another little burst of passion. “Gratitude, indeed! If the Council feel that, why was I not selected to approach the Prime Minister instead of Julian Orden? Sympathy! If you, the one person from whom I desire it, have any to offer, why can you not be kinder? Why can you not respond, ever so little, to what I feel for you?”
She hesitated for a moment, seeking for the words which would hurt him least. Tactless as ever, he misunderstood her.
“I may have had one small check in my career,” he continued eagerly, “but the game is not finished. Believe me, I have still great cards up my sleeve. I know that you have been used to wealth and luxury. Miss Abbeway,” he went on, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, “I was not boasting the other night. I have saved money, I have speculated fortunately—I—”
The look in her eyes stifled his eloquence. He broke off in his speech—became dumb and voiceless.
“Mr. Fenn,” she said, “once and for all this sort of conversation is distasteful to me. A great deal of what you say I do not understand. What I do understand, I dislike.”
She left him, with an inscrutable look. He made no effort to open the door for her. He simply stood listening to her departing footsteps, listened to the shrill summons of the lift-bell, listened to the lift itself go clanging downwards. Then he resumed his seat at his desk. With his hands clasped nervously together, an ink smear upon his cheek, his mouth slightly open, disclosing his irregular and discoloured teeth, he was not by any means a pleasant looking object.
He blew down a tube by his side and gave a muttered order. In a few minutes Bright presented himself.
“I am busy,” the latter observed curtly, as he closed the door behind him.