Maxwell looked at the other man politely:
“If we could have just a word together now,” he said, turning back to the girl. “I really must get back to my apartment at once. I have important papers to prepare for tomorrow.”
The other man turned away toward the table haughtily, with a scornful: “Why certainly,” and poured himself a glass from the flask that stood there.
Maxwell turned to the angry girl:
“Now, what can I do for you? I shall be very glad to do anything in my power of course.” He spoke stiffly as to a stranger. The girl perceived that her power over him was waning. Yet she was too subtle to let him see it.
“I am in deep trouble,” she sighed with a quiver of the lips, “but I can’t tell it in a moment. It is a long story.” Her eyelids fluttered down on her lovely painted cheeks. She knew the line that would touch him most.
“What sort of trouble?” he asked almost gently. He never could bear to see a woman suffer.
She clasped her little jewelled hands together fiercely and bent her head dejectedly.
“I cannot tell you all now,” she answered desperately, “you would have to hear the whole before you could understand. Wait until we are alone.”
“Is it financial trouble?” he urged after a pause with a gentle persistence in his voice.