"He is a man, and will understand the advisability of what I say," said Mr. Weir, his eyes cold, green, and unemotional. "Assure him of my consideration, and say that I hope to see him soon."
Without a word the girl came out into the counting-room. As she passed Anthony on her way to the street, her head was bent, her eyes upon the floor; for an instant the young man fancied that she raised them ever so little and saw him. He took off his hat, but she never paused. Mr. Weir opened the street door for her; Anthony heard her low voiced "Good-by," and she was gone.
"Mr. Weir," said Whitaker, "may I present Mr. Anthony Stevens?"
The cold, steady eyes of the man seemed to take in Anthony at a single glance; and he held out his hand.
"I had heard you were in the city," said he. "Dr. King mentioned it. In the absence of your uncle, permit me to welcome you."
Later Whitaker was called away, and Weir said:
"After your father's death I had all but forgotten that he had a son; then one day I received a report from our correspondent at New Orleans that brought you back to me in a way that insured your not slipping me in the future."
"What was that?" asked Anthony.
"It was an account of your affair with Alvaro," said Weir, and again his steady eyes took in the young man from head to foot.
Anthony smiled.