When the door of his office was closed, he caught at the chair by his desk to steady himself, and stood staring in front of him. “To Stanley Ryder!” he gasped.
He turned to the 'phone, and called up his friend.
“Lucy,” he said, “is it true that you have sold that stock?”
He heard her give a gasp. “Answer me!” he cried.
“Allan,” she began, “you are going to be angry with me—”
“Please answer me!” he cried again. “Have you sold that stock?”
“Yes, Allan,” she said, “I didn't mean—”
“I don't care to discuss the matter on the telephone,” he said. “I will stop in to see you this afternoon on my way home. Please be in, because it is important.” And then he hung up the receiver.
He called at the time he had set, and Lucy was waiting for him. She looked pale, and very much distressed. She sat in a chair, and neither arose to greet him nor spoke to him, but simply gazed into his face.
It was a very sombre face. “This thing has given me a great deal of pain,” said Montague; “and I don't want to prolong it any more than necessary. I have thought the matter over, and my mind is made up, so there need be no discussion. It will not be possible for me to have anything further to do with your affairs.”