She wanted to ask him something, but feared to hurt him.
“Daddy, when Ray comes back,” she said after a long silence, “will it be possible for you to leave this—this work you hate so much?”
“I have left it, dear,” he replied quietly. “Never again—never again—never again, thank God!”
She did not see his face, but she felt the tremor that passed through the frame of the man who held her.
Downstairs, the study was blue with smoke. Dick Gordon, conspicuously bandaged about the head, something of his good looks spoiled by three latitudinal scratches which ran down his face, sat in his dressing-gown and slippers, a big pipe clenched between his teeth, the picture of battered contentment.
“Very good of you, Johnson,” he said. “I wonder whether Bennett will take your offer. Honestly, do you think he’s competent to act as the manager of this enormous business?”
Johnson looked dubious.
“He was a clerk at Maitlands. You can have no knowledge of his administrative qualities. Aren’t you being just a little too generous?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I am,” said Johnson quietly. “I naturally want to help. There may be other positions less important, and perhaps, as you say, Ray might not care to take any quite as responsible.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” said Dick decidedly.