Mr. Paxton's air of innocence was admirably feigned. It might be that he was a better actor with a man than with a woman.
"There is something which I rather wish to say to you."
"To me? What is it?"
"I would rather, if you don't mind, speak to you outside."
Mr. Paxton turned his back against the bar facing Mr. Lawrence with a smile.
"Aren't we private enough in here? What is it you can have to say to me?"
"You know very well what it is I have to say to you. If you take my advice, you'll come outside."
Mr. Lawrence still spoke softly, but with a softness which, if one might put it so, had in it the suggestion of a scratch. A gleam came into his eyes which was scarcely a friendly gleam. The smile on Mr. Paxton's countenance broadened.
"I know! You are mistaken. I do not know. You are the merest acquaintance; I have never exchanged half a dozen words with you. What communication of a private nature you may have to make to me, I have not the faintest notion, but, whatever it is, I would rather you said it here."
Mr. Paxton's tones were, perhaps purposely, as loud as Mr. Lawrence's were soft. What he said must have been distinctly audible, not only to those who were close to him but also to those who were at a little distance. Especially did the high words seem audible to a shabby-looking fellow who was seated at a little table just in front of them, and wore his hat a good deal over his eyes, but who, in spite of that fact, seemed to keep a very keen eye on Mr. Paxton.