“It is up to you,” he said. David left....
How unfair, how like a woman he had been! Why? Why did this brilliant warm-hearted comrade lead him into moods that were womanish and unfair? He had left Tom as if Tom had insulted him. Could he have left otherwise, if Tom had said: “By all means go. You’re not worth saving.”
It was strange. It brooded in David for several inactive days.
Tom sat long, fingering his hurt, with a cold smile wavering away. His mind reached back to the first afternoon of the three at Cornelia’s studio: to the parable he had thrown off and that had had no sequel. Was this hostility of David’s perhaps its sequel?
He stopped smiling.
“God send, at any rate, he doesn’t go!”
And Tom did not believe in God. He believed in himself. The very following day he saw Mr. Deane in the latter’s office.
Mr. Deane beamed on him. “I have heard a great deal of you, Mr. Rennard—from my nephew. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Deane,” Tom leaned forward in his chair. “You can’t do anything material for me. I hope you will forgive what may seem the impertinence of this visit.... You know what interest I have in David. I am eager to know how he is getting on: what you think of his prospects. I have long wanted a few words with you on this subject.”
Mr. Deane looked at the young lawyer quizzically, then in assurance.