"I do not wish Miles to do anything he objects to," she returned coldly. "No doubt he has his reasons for not going."
Wolff's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch.
"No doubt," he said, glancing in Miles's direction; "but perhaps if I added my appeal to yours he would consent to overcome—his reasons."
Miles rose sullenly to his feet.
"If you want it—of course," he mumbled.
Wolff nodded absently. He went into his room, closed the door, leaving Nora alone. There had been an expression of anxiety on his face which did not, however, excuse his apparent indifference in Nora's eyes, and she stood frowning after him, puzzled and deeply wounded. But she made no attempt to follow him. The scene of the previous evening had been a last effort; she was too weary, too hopeless to strive again after a reunion which seemed already an impossibility.
Twenty minutes later Miles reappeared in the full glory of his evening clothes. Nora was surprised—perhaps a little disappointed—to observe that his spirits had risen.
"The carriage is waiting," he said. "Hurry up, or we shall be late."
Nora hesitated. A superstitious clinging to an old custom led her to the threshold of Wolff's room. She tried the handle of the door without effect, and when she turned away again her cheeks were scarlet.
"Locked, eh?" Miles said. "I bet he's afraid of us catching sight of his papers. Arnold said some of those staff fellows have the handling of pretty valuable stuff."