He rose from his chair and, with a fine show of indignation, thrust the gasping Bassett from the room, and then turned to face the girl.
"I am so sorry," he began. "That stupid boy—you see how stupid he is—"
"It doesn't matter, thank you," said Joan. "It—it wasn't very important."
"He doesn't usually forget things," murmured Mr. Vyner. "I wish now," he added, truthfully, "that I had told Mr. Hartley myself."
He held the door open for her, and, still expressing his regret, accompanied her down-stairs to the door. Miss Hartley, somewhat embarrassed, and a prey to suspicions which maidenly modesty forbade her to voice, listened in silence.
"Next time you come," said Mr. Vyner, pausing just outside the door, "I hope—"
Something dropped between them, and fell with a little tinkling crash on to the pavement. Mr. Vyner stooped, and, picking up a pair of clumsily fashioned spectacles, looked swiftly up at the office window.
"Bassett," he said, involuntarily.
He stood looking at the girl, and trying in vain to think of something to say. Miss Hartley, with somewhat more colour than usual, gave him a little bow and hurried off.