"Course he would."
"Twenty per cent after exploitation and a million down."
It was a staggering proposition, but Richard preserved his calm and remarked humorously:
"I'll take it in copper, please."
Auriole sprang to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders. Her face was lovelier at close range. A faint and delightful perfume came to his nostrils, her eyes burned brightly and the scarlet mouth, with its moist trembling lower lip, was an exquisite invitation. This indeed was a very woman, he thought, a striking contrast to the small and wistful Doreen. With sudden intuition he realised he had but to open his arms and she would enter—willingly, anxiously. An insane desire possessed him to do this thing. She was adorable, desirable, magnificent, and he was certain beyond doubt she loved him. With a catch of the breath he raised his hands and in so doing his glance fell upon the sleeve of the coat he wore. The cloth was of blue Cheviot which reminded him abruptly that he was Richard Frencham Altar masquerading in someone else's clothes, a circumstance which in no way admitted him to the use of short cuts to the affections of their real owner's admirers. It is disappointing to have to acknowledge that someone is violently in love with someone else that you happen to resemble and the reflection sobered him quickly. With an awkward laugh he turned away and repeated:
"Yes, tell him I'll take it in copper."
"Tony!" she said, "Tony, don't fool with it! Don't you, realise how frightfully serious it is? Haven't you any imagination?"
Apparently he did realise—apparently he had some imagination, for he replied:
"I imagine it is much too late for us to be talking here together. I'm going to ring the bell."
"No," she cried.