“I quite see the distinction, and it is a true paradox.”
Young Gascoyne, who had seemed anxious and fearful during the first part of the meal, feeling that I had conquered and entered the outer works of at least acquaintanceship, grew happier, and said:
“Rank is afraid that Uncle Gascoyne will hardly be pleased to find that he has made friends with us.”
“I am not afraid,” I interposed hastily, for I saw that Miss Gascoyne had stiffened perceptibly.
“You said he was sure to be annoyed.”
“That is quite a different thing. He has been very kind to me, but he can hardly expect to veto my acquaintances.” I was about to say “friends,” but checked myself in time and added: “Besides, I don’t think he would wish to do so.”
“He seems rather a jolly old chap from what you say.”
“He is everything that is generous.”
I made a point of always speaking enthusiastically of Mr. Gascoyne. Someone was sure sooner or later to repeat what I said.
“We should be sorry to do anything to injure your prospects, Mr. Rank.” Miss Gascoyne spoke with just the faintest suspicion of stiffness.