Haredale's true, generous instincts got the upper hand at that. He told himself that he was behaving, mentally, like a cad.
"Miss Oppner," he said warmly, "you are all that Mary has assured me. You are a real chum. I can say no more. But it is quite impossible, believe me."
There was such finality in the words that she was silenced. Haredale abruptly changed the subject.
An hour passed.
Two hours passed.
Zoe began to grow concerned on her father's behalf. He was in poor health, and his physician's orders were imperative upon the point of avoiding business.
Half-way through the third hour she made up her mind.
"He has wasted his time long enough," she pronounced firmly—and the expression struck Haredale as oddly chosen. "I am going to inform him that his 'conference' is closed."
She passed out into the corridor to where Mr. Alden, his chair tilted at a comfortable angle, and his brogue-shod feet upon a coffee-table which bore also a decanter, a siphon, and a box of cigars, contentedly was pursuing his instructions. He stood up as she appeared.
"Mr. Alden," she said, "I wish to speak to Mr. Oppner."