Mr. Fentolin shook his head gloomily.
“It is, alas!” he declared, “one of my weaknesses. I can work only in solitude. I came down on the chance that the fine weather might have tempted you over to the Golf Club. As it is, I shall return.”
“I am awfully sorry,” Hamel said. “Can’t I go out of sight somewhere?”
Mr. Fentolin sighed.
“I will not ask your pardon for my absurd humours,” he continued, a little sadly. “Their existence, however, I cannot deny. I will wait.”
“It seems a pity for you to do that,” Hamel remarked. “You see, I might stay here for some time.”
Mr. Fentolin’s face darkened. He looked at the young man with a sort of pensive wrath.
“If,” the latter went on, “you say ‘yes’ to something I am going to ask you, I might even stay—in the neighbourhood—for longer still.”
Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless in his chair; his eyes were fixed upon Hamel.
“What is it that you are going to ask me?” he demanded.