"How did the market open, Mr. Morse?" I asked, recklessly.
Again that electric gurgle escaped from my startled clerk.
"It seems to be very feverish, madame," answered Morse, evidently recovering his equanimity.
"Naturally!" I exclaimed, feelingly, but I doubt that Morse caught the word.
"Is that all, Mrs. Stevens?" he asked, presently.
"That'll do for the present--ah--Mr. Morse," I said, reluctantly. "Good-bye!"
I returned to my seat beside the reading-table and found Suzanne gazing at me with soft, sympathetic eyes.
"If I had but dared to tell him to unload," I mused aloud, but went no further, for the French girl's glance had become an interrogation-mark.
"Tell monsieur to unload?" murmured Suzanne, who sometimes spoke English when she especially craved my confidence. "But--mon Dieu!--monsieur is not--what you say, madame, loaded?"
I broke into a silvery, high-pitched laugh that annoyed me, exceedingly. But it was not unpleasant to realize that the girl knew that Mr. Stevens was a gentleman. I felt grateful to Suzanne for her good opinion. A moment later, the telephone rang, sharply.