He smiled at that. "I don't require ocular evidence, alma mater. I have always been able to read you with my eyes shut."
"I believe you have, Nap," she said, with a touch of wistfulness.
"It isn't your fault," he said, "that you weren't made subtle enough.
You've done your best."
He came and sat down facing her as she desired. The strong electric light beat upon his face also, but it revealed nothing to her anxious eyes—nothing save that faint, cynical smile that masked so much.
She shook her head. She was clasping and unclasping her hands restlessly. "A very poor best, Nap," she said. "I know only too well how badly I've failed. It never seemed to matter till lately, and now I would give the eyes out of my head to have a little influence with you."
"That so?" he said again.
She made a desperate gesture. "Yes, you sit there and smile. It doesn't matter to you who suffers so long as you can grab what you want."
"How do you know what I want?" he said.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Errol. "I only surmise."
"And you think that wise? You are not afraid of tripping up in the dark?"