His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on top of his head.
“I wouldn’t say that, if I were you,” she responded cheerily. “Fabian showed me the sum you offered for his share. It’s ridiculous. The business isn’t worth it.”
“What do you know about the business?” remarked the other.
“Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it’s worth less now,” she answered with suggestion. “It’s worth much less now,” she added.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines of trouble.
“I mean he’s going to join the enemy,” she answered quickly.
“Join the enemy!” broke from the old man’s lips with a startled accent.
“Yes, the firm of Belloc.”
The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face. “What makes you say that!” he exclaimed, anger in his eyes.
“Well, Fabian has to put money into something,” she answered, “and the only business he knows is lumber business. Don’t you think it’s natural he should go to Belloc?”