"Think he might take a trip East and see you act? You know you've got quite a part now."
Laura tossed back her head impatiently. Petulantly she said:
"I wish you wouldn't discuss him. Why do you mention it now? Is it because you were drinking last night, and lost your sense of delicacy? You once had some consideration for me. What I've done I've done. I'm giving you all that I can. Please, please, don't hurt me any more than you can help. That's all I ask."
Brockton rose, and, going over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and his cheek close to the back of her head. He was sorry he had spoken so sharply. In his gruff way he was as fond of her as ever, but he could not help it if he sometimes felt under the weather.
"You know, dearie," he said kindly, "I do a lot for you because you've always been on the level with me. I'm sorry I hurt you, but there was too much wine last night, and I'm all upset. Forgive me."
He tried to kiss her, to make up, but she averted her head. Holding herself aloof, she shuddered. A feeling of repulsion passed through her. Perhaps never so much as now had she realized that this kind of life was becoming more intolerable every hour.
In order to avoid his caresses, Laura had leaned forward. Her hands clasped between her knees, she gazed straight past him, with a cold, impassive expression. Brockton looked at her silently for a moment. The man was really fond of her; he wanted to try and comfort her, but of late a wall seemed to have risen between them. He realized now that she had slipped away from the old environment and conditions. He had brought her back, but he had regained none of her affection. With all his money, their old camaraderie was gone forever. These and other thoughts hurt him as such things always hurt a selfish, egotistical man, inclining him to be brutal and inconsiderate.
As they both remained there in silence, the front door bell rang, first gently and then more violently. Brockton went to open. Before he could reach it there was another ring. The caller, whoever it was, seemed in a good deal of a hurry.
"D——n that bell!" exclaimed the broker.
He opened the parlor door and passed out into the private hall, so he could open the door leading into the public corridor. Laura remained seated where she was, immovable and impassive, with the same cold, hard expression on her face. When, she pondered, would she be able to summon up courage enough to tell Brockton the truth—that she detested him and his set and loathed herself? Why had he mentioned John just now? Could he have read her thoughts and guessed of whom she had been thinking?