“Read that,” he said, stabbing the paper with his finger.
The part in which he stabbed it was so unbrokenly set that it must have struck Katie Deedes as overwhelmingly learned.—“There you are—read that!” he ordered her.
Then, striding back to the mantelpiece, he stood watching her as if he had paid for a seat in a playhouse and had found standing-room only.
Amory supposed that it must be something in that close and grey-looking oblong that was at the bottom of his imperious curtness. She was sure of this when, before she had read half a dozen lines, he cut it with a sharp “Well? I suppose you see what it means to us?”
“Just a moment,” she said bewilderedly; “you always did read quicker than I can——”
“Quicker!—” he said. “Just run your eye down it. That ought to tell you.”
She did so, and a few capitals caught her eye.
“Do you mean this about the North-West Banks?” she asked diffidently.
“Do I mean——! Well, yes. Rather.”
“I do wish you’d explain it to me. It seems rather hard.”