“I’m wondering,” she said, “why Frank Donnell doesn’t come. Have you any idea, Mr.——”
She looked up as she spoke, and fell silent. Smull’s fixed smile had become a fixed grin. Out of a red, puffy face two darkish little eyes rested on her with disconcerting intentness.
“Look here, Eris, we don’t need Frank Donnell. It’s up to me, after all. Isn’t it?”
Her lips unclosed, a trifle stiffly: “Why yes, I suppose so——”
“Well then!”
She met his grin with a forced smile.
“Well?” she enquired, “have you chosen to discuss matters with me alone?”
“You bet. That’s right, Eris. That’s what. You get my first curve for a homer, little girl.”
He hunched his chair nearer to hers: “Look here, Eris; you can have pretty nearly what you want out of me. You want your own company for keeps? O. K.! You want to pick your director and your camera-man? That’s O. K. You want Frank Donnell? Sure!——”
“But Betsy——”