“That’s true,” he groaned.
“And—and—I should have come before—I’ve been intending to come—but I’ve been so busy——”
But that also he brushed aside for the little it was worth. “Must you compromise yourself like this?” he demanded. “Don’t you see? I’m not made of wood, and I suppose your eyes are open too. Prang may be here at any moment. He’ll see that notice on the door and wait ... and then he’ll see you go out. You oughtn’t to have come,” he continued gloomily. “Why did you, Amory?”
Once more she quailed before the blue mica of his eye. Her words came now a bit at a time. The victory was his.
“Only to—to see—how the paper was going on—and to—to talk things over—,” she said.
“Oh!” He nodded. “Very well.”
He strode forward from the mantelpiece and approached the desk at which she sat.
“I suppose Cosimo wants to know; very well. As a matter of fact I’m rather glad you’ve come. Look here——”
He grabbed a newspaper from the desk and thrust it almost roughly into her hands.