“Not yet.”
“Oh, you ought!”
“Why? I want the meeting to take place. It will be useful in its way—it may show us how public opinion is going.”
Sara hid her contempt by rising from her chair and removing her hat. Reckage watched the play of her arms as she stood before the mirror, and he did not see, as she could, the reflection of his face—sensual, calculating, and, stormed as it was for the moment by the meanest feelings of self-interest, repellent.
“How I hate him!” she thought; “how I despise him!”
Then she turned round, smiling—
“Hats make my head ache! So you think the meeting will be useful?”
“Emphatically. It did occur to me that I might drop a line to Robert—in fact, I was writing to him when you came in. Here's the letter, as you see, signed and sealed.”
“Do send it.”
“No,” he answered, putting it back into his pocket; “one could only get him on the platform just now by making him believe that such an action would, in some way, help me. You don't know Robert.”