Steppe called just as Ronald was going out to lunch. At any time Steppe was an unwelcome visitor. In the state of Ronnie's nerves, he felt it impossible that he could support the strain of the big man's company for five minutes. He wished Steppe wouldn't barge in without warning. It was not gentlemanly.
"I'm awful glad to see you, Mr. Steppe; when did you get back?"
"Last night—I won't keep you a minute. I'm on my way to make a call on that swine Moropulos," he growled. "I want to see you about Beryl."
Ronald Morelle's heart missed a beat. Had she told? He turned white at the thought. Luckily Steppe was striding up and down the room, hands in pockets, bearded chin on chest.
Ronnie's mouth had gone dry and he had a cold sinking feeling inside him. "Yes—about Beryl," he managed to say.
"You're a great friend of hers, huh? Known her for a long time?"
Ronnie nodded.
"You have some influence with her?"
"I—I hope so—not a great influence—"
"I am going to marry Beryl. The doctor has probably hinted to you that I have plans in that quarter, huh?"