“Thank you so much, sir.” He followed Bryce to the latter's private office, closed the door carefully behind him, and stood with his broad back against it.
“Buck, are you losing your mind?” Bryce demanded.
“Losing it? I should say not. I've just lost it.”
“I believe you. If you were quite sane, you wouldn't run the risk of being seen entering my office.”
“Tut-tut, old dear! None of that! Am I not the main-spring of the Northern California Oregon Railroad and privileged to run the destinies of that soulless corporation as I see fit?” He sat down, crossed his long legs, and jerked a speckled thumb toward the outer office. “I was sane when I came in here, but the eyes of the girl outside—oh, yow, them eyes! I must be introduced to her. And you're scolding me for coming around here in broad daylight. Why, you duffer, if I come at night, d'ye suppose I'd have met her? Be sensible.”
“You like Moira's eyes, eh?”
“I've never seen anything like them. Zounds, I'm afire. I have little prickly sensations, like ants running over me. How can you be insensate enough to descend to labour with an houri like that around? Oh, man! To think of an angel like that WORKING—to think of a brute like you making her work!”
“Love at first sight, eh, Buck?”
“I don't know what it is, but it's nice. Who is she?”
“She's Moira McTavish, and you're not to make love to her. Understand? I can't have you snooping around this office after to-day.”