“Is wholly unnecessary!” she finished smilingly. “The bust was a failure and I had meant to destroy it myself. So please forget it!”
“But my bad manners!”
She was making it too easy for his comfort. He wished to abase himself, to convince her of his contrition.
“Well,” she said with a judicial air, “generally speaking, I approve of your manners. We all have our careless moments. I’ve been guilty myself of upsetting bric-a-brac that I got tired of seeing in the house.”
“You ought to scold me—cut my acquaintance.”
“Who’d be punished then?” she demanded, drawing the fur collar closer about her throat.
“I might die!” he moaned plaintively.
“An irreparable loss—to the world!” she said, “for which I refuse to become responsible.” She took a step toward the door and paused. “If I may refer to your destructive habits, I’ll say you’re some critic!” She left him speculating as to her meaning. To outward appearances, at least, she hadn’t been greatly disturbed by the smashing of Mills’s image.
When he had concluded his errand he went to the enclosure where the company’s officers sat to speak to Shep, whom he had been avoiding since the encounter with Walters at the Athletic Club. Shep jumped up and led the way to the directors’ room.
“You know,” he began, “I don’t want to seem to be pursuing you, but”—he was stammering and his fine, frank eyes opened and shut quickly in his agitation—“but you’ve got to know how much I appreciate——”