Hamilton turned away impatiently from the appealing face.
"Cicily," he said shortly, "Uncle Jim and I are very busy. We have business of the highest importance to discuss."
Delancy, who from long experience knew much concerning his niece's wilfulness, now read aright the resolute expression on her face. He tugged nervously at his tufts of whisker, and spoke in a tone of resignation:
"Oh, tell her, Charles, and have done with it.... Or, listen, Cicily. It's this way: These men are getting more money than they ought to get. Charles can't make a penny profit, running his business this way. That's all there is to it—he's got to cut them ten per cent. I've advised it, myself."
Cicily's charming nose was now distinctly tip-tilted, whatever might be its normal line.
"Yes, I'd expect you to advise it, Uncle Jim," she remarked, dryly. She turned to her husband, accusingly. "But, Charles, there is no reason why you should follow his advice. Why didn't you ask me? I'm your partner. I don't think you have treated me fairly in this."
Hamilton, overwrought and exasperated by the multiplication of his worries, began a sharp answer; but it was interrupted by the decisiveness with which his wife went on speaking:
"Charles, you have treated me like a child, like a fool.... And you said that you'd let me help you!"
This reproach appealed to Hamilton as grossly unfair.
"Why, Cicily," he exclaimed, "I did let you help. I've let you do everything that you wanted to do—no matter how—" In a sudden access of discretion, he choked back the "foolish."