Crowley walked with a bit of a swagger from the room, lighted a cigarette in the office, puttered for a few moments with some old newspapers on a table, and then went out of doors and strolled along the road in the direction of the big house on the hill. She observed his course from a side window. She felt the impulse to run after him and beat her fists against that broad and stubborn back.
She saw Latisan come striding down from the Flagg mansion, determination in his manner.
The two men met. They halted.
Her apprehension became agony, but she did not dare to interfere between them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CROWLEY, standing in front of Latisan, twisted his countenance into an expression of deprecatory, appealing remorse.
“I have taken the liberty of apologizing to the young lady, sir! Now that I know how matters stand, I want to beg your pardon very humbly. I haven’t meant anything wrong, but a man of my style gets cheeky without realizing it.”
Latisan had come off well in his interview with Echford Flagg. The old man seemed to be in a chastened mood. When he had been informed of the part the girl was playing, the master had admitted that the right kind of a woman can influence a man to his own good.
Therefore, when the drive master strode down the hill, the radiance of his expansive joy had cleared out all the shadows. He was willing to meet a penitent halfway. He put out his hand frankly. Crowley held to the hand for a moment and put his other palm upon Latisan’s shoulder. “Congratulations! I know my place, now that it has become a man-to-man matter between us. But before—well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Latisan, I had met Miss Jones in New York in a sort of a business way and I was probably a little fresh in trying to keep up the acquaintance.”