“Are you a brave man, Mr. Hamel?” she asked.
He was staggered but he answered her promptly.
“I believe so.”
“Don’t give up the Tower—just yet. That is what—he has brought you here for. He wants you to give it up and go back. Don’t!”
The earnestness of her words was unmistakable. Hamel felt the thrill of coming events.
“Why not?”
“Don’t ask me,” she begged. “Only if you are brave, if you have feeling for others, keep the Tower, if it be for only a week. Hush!”
The door had been noiselessly opened. The doctor appeared and advanced to the table with a grave little bow.
“Mr. Fentolin,” he said, “has been kind enough to suggest that I take a glass of wine with you. My presence is not needed up-stairs. Mr. Hamel,” he added, “I am glad, sir, to make your acquaintance. I have for a long time been a great admirer of your father’s work.”
He took his place at the head of the table and, filling his glass, bowed towards Hamel. Once more Gerald and his sister relapsed almost automatically into an indifferent and cultivated silence. Hamel found civility towards the newcomer difficult. Unconsciously his attitude became that of the other two. He resented the intrusion. He found himself regarding the advent of Doctor Sarson as possessing some secondary significance. It was almost as though Mr. Fentolin preferred not to leave him alone with his niece and nephew.