“Well,” he added, “let us call it a difference of opinion.”
“Yes.”
Something in the monosyllable made the old gentleman's lips twitch nervously.
“I may mention,” he said, with a dangerous suavity, “that I still hold to my opinion.”
Jack Meredith rose, without haste. This, like the interview of the previous night, was conducted upon strictly high-bred and gentlemanly lines.
“And I to mine,” he said. “That is why I took the liberty of calling at this early hour. I thought that perhaps we might effect some sort of a compromise.”
“It is very good of you to make the proposal.” Sir John kept his fingers away from his lips by an obvious exercise of self-control. “I am not partial to compromises: they savour of commerce.”
Jack gave a queer, curt nod, and moved towards the door. Sir John extended his unsteady hand and rang the bell.
“Good-morning,” he said.
“Graves,” he added, to the servant who stood in the doorway, “when you have closed the door behind Mr. Meredith, bring up breakfast, if you please.”