Hugh responded cheerfully. “He’s been jolly kind to me, too. He is a good old sport, when you get beneath all the fuss and feathers.” And he strolled back to Helen, Richard’s eyes following him sadly. Latham gave way to Hugh and wandered over to a bookcase and began examining its treasures.
Stephen Pryde turned to his uncle again. “The business that brought him—Grant—can I attend to it for you, Uncle Dick?”
“No, thank you, Stephen, it—it is purely a personal matter.”
Pryde helped himself to a cigarette, saying, “Did he say whether he had heard from Jepson?” and trying to speak carelessly.
Bransby answered him impatiently. “No; I was glad to find out, however, that Grant agrees with me that your scheme for controlling the output of aeroplane engines is an impossible one for us.”
Pryde’s face stiffened. “Then he is wrong,” he said curtly.
Bransby angered. “He is not wrong. Haven’t I just said he agreed with me?”
“If you gave the matter serious attention, instead of opposing it blindly, simply because it came from me——”
But this was too much. Bransby stopped him hotly, “I don’t oppose it because it comes from you. I am against it because it isn’t sound. If it were, I would have thought of it.”
“You don’t realize the possibilities.” Stephen spoke as hotly as the elder had, but there was pleading in his voice.