"Just so. Just so," said the senior partner. He looked at his boots again. "And she is old enough to earn her own living. Or she might marry. You are in a fortunate position."
Hartley, still watching him anxiously, bowed.
"In the event, for instance," continued Mr. Vyner, in careless tones— "in the event of your retiring from the service of Vyner and Son, there is nobody that would suffer much. That is a great consideration—a very great consideration."
Hartley, unable to speak, bowed again.
"Change," continued Mr. Vyner, with the air of one uttering a new but indisputable fact—"change is good for us all. So long as you retain your present position there is, of course, a little stagnation in the office; the juniors see their way barred."
He took up a paper-knife and, balancing it between his fingers, tapped lightly with it on the table.
"Is your daughter likely to be married soon?" he inquired, looking up suddenly.
Hartley shook his head. "N-no; I don't think so," he said, thickly.
The senior partner resumed his tapping.
"That is a pity," he said at last, with a frown. "Of course, you understand that Vyner and Son are not anxious to dispense with your services—not at all. In certain circumstances you might remain with us another ten or fifteen years, and then go with a good retiring allowance. At your present age there would be no allowance. Do you understand me?"