Chilcote still looked irritable and disturbed. “I detest rings. I never wear rings.”
Loder raised his eyes calmly. “Neither do I,” he said. “But there's no reason for bigotry.”
But Chilcote's irritability was started. He pushed back his chair. “I don't like the idea,” he said.
The other eyed him amusedly. “What a queer beggar you are!” he said. “You waive the danger of a man signing your checks and shy at wearing a piece of jewelry. I'll have a fair share of individuality to study.”
Chilcote moved restlessly. “Everybody knows I detest jewelry.”
“Everybody knows you are capricious. It's got to be the rings or nothing, so far as I make out.”
Chilcote again altered his position, avoiding the other's eyes. At last, after a struggle with himself, he looked up.
“I suppose you're right!” he said. “Have it your own way.” It was the first small, tangible concession to the stronger will.
Loder took his victory quietly. “Good!” he said. “Then it's all straight sailing?”
“Except for the matter of the—the remuneration.” Chilcote hazarded the word uncertainly.