But Rodd, brought to bay, only looked more stubborn. “It’s no more than I’ve told you, sir,” he muttered, “it’s just a feeling. Things must come down some day.”
“Oh, damn!” Arthur exclaimed, out of patience, and thinking that the banker was making altogether too much of it—and of Rodd. “If he were a weather-glass——”
“Or a woman!” interjected Betty, who was observing all with bright inscrutable eyes.
“But as he isn’t either,” Arthur continued impatiently, “I fail to see why you make so much of it! Of course, things will come down some day, but if he thinks that with your experience you are blind to anything he is likely to see, he’s no better than a fool! Because my uncle, for reasons which you understand, sir, has drawn out four hundred pounds, he thinks every customer is going to leave us, and Ovington’s must put up the shutters! The truth is, he knows nothing about it, and if he wishes to damage the bank he is going the right way to do it!”
“Would you like my opinion, father?” Betty asked.
“No,” sharply, “certainly not, child. Where’s Clement?”
“Well, I’m afraid he’s away.”
“Again? Then he is behaving very badly!”
“That was the opinion I was going to give,” the girl answered. “That some were behaving better than others.”
“If,” Arthur cried, “you mean me——”