"You seem very original."
"It is absentmindedness, I think. I meant to ask, are you ever down near the Stock Exchange?"
"That is where Mr. Lennox goes, isn't it?"
"There are others that frequent the neighbourhood. Among them is a deacon named Dunwoodie."
"Isn't he the lawyer who acted for Mr. Lennox?"
"Now you mention it, I believe he is. Anyway, I wonder if you would care to have him act for you?"
Cassy crossed her hands. "I don't understand you."
"For a moment or two, he didn't either. Then he said he would like to see you. That was an hour ago. I have just come from his office."
"But what in the world does he want of me? Everything is over now, isn't it? Or are there more doors? Really, if there are, I don't think I can stand it. I don't think I can, Mr. Jones."
"Yes, but there are doors that don't slam, doors that are closed and locked and barred. Sometimes there is romance behind them, sometimes there are santal-wood boxes crammed with rubies; sometimes there are secrets, sometimes there are landscapes of beckoning palms. One never quite knows what there is behind closed doors. He may open one or two for you. Wouldn't it interest you to let him try?"