"I am too busy to give you any time," retorted Bawdsey, and tried to enter the house.
"Nevertheless, you will give me a quarter of an hour," said George, blocking the doorway with his stalwart form. "What I have to say cannot be left until a more convenient period."
"I tell you I am busy, Mr. Brendon."
"And I tell you that I intend to have this interview," rejoined Brewton, imperiously. "You talk a great deal about gratitude, Bawdsey, yet you are unwilling to put yourself out for me in the least degree."
Bawdsey became penitent at once. "It is true, Mr. Brendon. But I am very worried." He cast a glance at the newspaper in his hand. "However, you have first call upon my time, so we will go to my room."
"That's as it should be."
No more words passed. Bawdsey mounted the stairs and led George into the well-remembered room. Brendon took a chair, and Bawdsey, with an anxious look, threw himself into another. The man's face was flushed, his red hair was in disorder, and his eyes were bright. As a rule he was calm and self-controlled, so George conjectured that something particularly important must have occurred to upset him. However, Bawdsey's troubles were none of his business, and he began talking at once of his reason for seeking the interview. "I had a conversation with Lord Derrington the other evening," he said deliberately, "and we talked of you."
"Then you heard no good of me," replied Bawdsey, with a sneer. "Lord Derrington does not like me."
"That matters little. No liking can exist between a man in Lord Derrington's position and his paid servant."
"Oh, you call me that, do you, sir?"