She opened her eyes, wondering what had evoked this amazing confidence, little guessing that the habit of years was behind it. He had always talked to Susan about his affairs, poured them into ears now deaf in the hour of sorest need.
"Sit down," he commanded. "There's no hurry. I'm expecting Mr. Tomlin."
"I beg your pardon; I forgot to mention it. I have a message from Mr. Miggott. His respects, and he wants to see you if you can spare a few minutes."
"Ho! Well, I can't see him yet. He must wait my convenience. Sit you down!"
Mabel obeyed, blushing slightly, because Quinney's eyes were so piercing. She was quite unaware that she had betrayed herself in the pronunciation of a name. At no other time, probably, would Quinney have leapt to the conclusion that James was behind her trouble as certainly as he was behind his own. He hated James. It hurt him to hear his name softly murmured.
"Any of your people ill, my dear?"
"No."
"Not in debt, are you?"
"Certainly not."
"Not sufferin' from neuralgia, or toothache, or anything of that sort?"