Larssen said aloud to his secretary: "Show her up when I ring next."
Then to Matheson: "There's no need to 'phone. Your wife is waiting below."
As the shipowner's hand hovered over the button of the electric bell, waiting for a yes or no from his antagonist, a great temptation lay before Matheson.
The recital of the events of the past three weeks, as given in the brutal wording of the shipowner, had torn at his nerves like the pincers of an inquisitor. He saw now how the world would judge the relations between Elaine and himself. The change of name, the meeting at the same hotel at Arles, the second meeting, the companionship of that fateful week at Nîmes—the world would put only one interpretation on it all. Elaine, lying helpless in her close-curtained room at the nursing home in Wiesbaden, would be fouled with the imaginings of the prurient. Not only had he brought blindness to her, but now he was to bring her to the pillory with the scarlet letter fixed upon her.
Yet he could avoid it if he chose. A choice lay open to him. Larssen would be ready to exchange silence for silence. If Matheson would stand aside and let the Hudson Bay scheme go through, no doubt Larssen would play fair in the matter of Elaine. That in effect was what he offered as his hand hovered over the electric bell.
The shipowner, though an easy smile of triumph masked his feelings as he lay back in his chair, knew that he was at the critical point of his career. If Matheson decided to let Olive be shown in, then Olive would have in her hands the judgment between the two men. To be dependent on a woman's mood, a woman's whim, would be Larssen's position. It galled him to the quick. The seconds that slipped by while Matheson considered were minute-long to him.
If only Matheson would weaken and propose compromise!
Larssen uttered no word of persuasion one way or another. He knew that, if his desire could be attained, it would be attained through silence.
Presently Matheson stirred in his chair.