"I suppose so," Grace agreed. "But I don't know your difficulties and what you want."
"You will know soon," Gerald rejoined and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's an awkward business; I've got to brace up."
He left her and went to the library, where Osborn sat at the big oak table with some letters and a wine glass in front of him. The spacious room was mostly in shadow, but a ray of fading light shone in through the tall west window. Gerald avoided the illumination as he advanced, and stopped in the gloom opposite Osborn, who straightened his body with a jerk and upset the glass.
"Well?" he said harshly. "Why have you left the bank?"
"The wine is running across the table and on to your clothes.
Shall I ring?"
"No," said Osborn, pushing his chair back noisily. "Let it run! Stand still or sit down. Tell me why you came."
"To begin with, I have left the bank for good."
"Ah," said Osborn grimly, "I suspected something like this! You mean they turned you out? Well, you are consistent in your habits. You left school in similar circumstances, you left Woolwich, and now—"
"I was not turned out, sir. They gave me a week's leave, but I can't go back."
Osborn frowned. Things had been going well and he had thought himself free from trouble for a time, but it looked as if he would get his worst jar. He tried to preserve his calm and said with a touch of weariness: