"I'll get it done," said ready Roland. "There are such interruptions in this office, you see."
He was working away at a steaming pace, when Sir Richard Yorke came forth again, talking with Bede Greatorex. Roland slipped off his stool, and brought his tall self in his uncle's path.
"How are you, Sir Richard?"
Sir Richard's little eyes went blinking out, and he condescended to recognize Roland.
"Oh, ah, to be sure. You are one of the clerks here! Hope you keep out of debt, young man."
"I try to," said Roland. "I get a pound a week, and live upon it. It is not much for all things. One has to enjoy champagne and iced turtle through the shop-windows."
"Ah," said Sir Richard slowly, rubbing his hands together as if he were washing them of undesirable connections, "this comes of being a rover. You should do as Gerald does: work to keep up a position. I read an able article in the Snarler last night, which was pointed out to me as Gerald Yorke's. He works to some purpose, he does."
"If Gerald works he spends," was on the tip of his tongue. But he kept it in: it was rare indeed that his good-nature failed him. "How is Vincent?" he asked.
Vincent was very well, Sir Richard vouchsafed to reply, and went out, rubbing his hands still.
So, with one interlude or another, Roland's morning was got through. When released, he went flying in search of Annabel Channing, to impart to her the great news contained in her brother's letter.