I took her up. "Well, it's that that I want to see him about. But as regards you and me—if you want it to make a difference——"
It was a plain offer to release her, but I don't think she understood it as that. Indeed, her manner puzzled me entirely. It was eager, shrinking, wistful and apprehensive all at once, and she appeared to be trying to shake off something—something preposterous. Well, that sky-blue uniform had been preposterous enough.
"It shall make a difference—if you wish," I offered again proudly.
"No," she murmured, apparently understanding this time, and busy with her lace again.
Then I entered into I know not what fantastic explanation of the curious fact that a man with the world in his grasp should have chosen to touch his cap to editors and proprietors. She tried to look as if she believed me, but it was plain that she didn't in the least. Once or twice she tried to interrupt me, but my patience was quickly running out.
"So you see how it was," I said at last, dropping my voice as Weston, the secretary-bird passed. "It was no business of his, and I want to know what he's got to say about it. You can tell him so if you like."
Again that inexplicable look of timorousness came into her small eyes.
"You mean the commissionaire's job, of course?" she said.
"I mean the commissionaire's job," I replied.
That, I thought with satisfaction, would cover my real reason for wishing to see Archie as well as anything else.