“So there’s no more work?” asked the girl after a pause.
Mr. Ellsberger’s hands said: “What can I do?”
“You ought not to have any difficulty in getting a shop,” he said, “with your figure.”
“Especially when the figure’s twenty pounds a week,” she said unsmilingly. “I was a fool ever to leave Paris. I was doing well there and I wish I’d never heard of the cinema business.”
Still young and pretty and slim, with a straight nose and a straighter mouth, she had no appeal for Mr. Ellsberger, who in matters of business had an unsympathetic nature.
“Why don’t you go back to Paris?” he said, speaking very deliberately and looking out of the window. “Perhaps that affair has blown over by now.”
“What affair?” she asked sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve friends in Paris,” said the chairman, “good, bright boys who go around a lot, and they know most of what’s going on in town.”
She looked at him, biting her lips thoughtfully.
“Reggie van Rhyn—that’s the trouble you heard about?”