“Annette,” said Jack severely, “drop that 'Mr.' stuff. I was your friend yesterday. Am I any less your friend to-day? True enough, I am Tony's boss, but Tony is my friend—that is, if he wants to have it so. You must believe this, Annette.”
He offered her his hand. With a sudden impulse she took it in both of hers and held it hard against her breast, her eyes meanwhile burning into his with a look of adoration, open and unashamed. She apparently forgot the others in the room.
“Jack,” she cried, her voice thrilling with passion, “I don't care what you are. I don't care what you think. I will never, never forget what you have done for me.”
Maitland flung a swift glance at McNish and was startled at the look of rage, of agonised rage, that convulsed his face.
“My dear Annette,” he said, with a light laugh, “don't make too much of it. I was glad to help Tony and you. Why shouldn't I help old friends?”
As he was speaking they heard the sound of a door closing and looking about, Jack found that McNish had gone, to be followed by Tony a moment or two later.
“Oh, never mind him,” cried Annette, answering Jack's look of surprise. “He has to go to work. And it doesn't matter in the least.”
Jack was vaguely disturbed by McNish's sudden disappearance.
“But, Annette,” he said, “I don't want McNish to think that I—that you—”
“What?” She leaned toward him, her face all glowing with warm and eager light, her eyes aflame, her bosom heaving. “What, Jack?” she whispered. “What does it matter what he thinks?”