“Uncle Paul,” he said, “why will you go on running your head against a brick wall?”
“What do you mean, boy?”
“Only that you have got a notion in your head, and it seems useless for me to try and get it out. I’m busy and bothered, and have a deal to think about, so, once for all, let me tell you that I have hardly ever paid Miss Mullion the slightest attention, and, what is more, I am not so conceited as to believe she is making herself uncomfortable about me.”
The old man glared hard at him and uttered a grunt, for the eyes that met his were as frank and calm as could be.
“Then all I can say is that if what you say is true—”
“Which it is—perfectly true,” replied Geoffrey.
“Then it’s very strange,” grumbled the old man. “She never went on like this before. Have another cheroot, Trethick?”
“Now that’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard you say to-day,” said Geoffrey, smiling, as he took one of the great black cheroots. “I say, old fellow, these are very good. What do they cost you a-box?”
“Five pounds a hundred,” said the old man, quietly.
“What?” cried Geoffrey.