"Don't apologise too soon, Lady Letitia," he warned her.
She raised her eyebrows.
"I am not accustomed to think the worst of people," she said. "I can scarcely picture to myself any person, already inordinately wealthy, singling out my father as a victim for his further cupidity. Let me return to the question which I have already asked you. Would you care, without letting my father know of this visit and my request, to return his cheque or promissory note, or whatever it was, in exchange for these shares?"
"I am not even sure, Lady Letitia," he reminded her, after a moment's pause, "that your father wishes this."
"You can, I think, take my word that it would be a relief to him," she asserted.
He pondered for a few moments. The light through the trees seemed to be burning brighter in Vont's sitting room.
"I will be frank with you, Lady Letitia," he said. "There has been no increase in the value of these shares. The news which I have expected concerning them has not arrived. The transaction, therefore, is one which at the present moment would probably entail a loss. Do you wish me to make your father a present of twenty or thirty thousand pounds?"
She rose deliberately to her feet and shook the few grains of cigarette ash from her dress. The cigarette itself she threw into a laurel bush.
"I understand," she remarked, "what you implied when you said that women did not understand business."
Her tone was unhurried, her manner expressed no indignation. Yet as she strolled towards the gate, David felt the colour drained from his cheeks, felt the wicker sides of his chair crash in the grip of his fingers. He rose and hurried after her.