'You sent for me,' he said, with no other greeting.
'I did. Come in. Is the door shut? I've got some good news for you. Heavens! you look as if you wanted good news badly! What's the matter, man? More debts and duns? And I want to consult you a little about this picture of yours'—he pointed to the easel.
'I want to consult you a little about this picture of yours.'
'Mine? No: yours. You have bought me—pictures and all.'
'Just as you like. What does it matter—here—within these walls?'
'Hush! Even here you should not whisper it. The birds of the air, you know—— Take great care'—— Roland laughed, but not mirthfully. 'Mine?' he repeated; 'mine? Suppose I were to call together the fellows at the club, and suppose I were to tell the story of the last three years?—eh? eh? How a man was fooled on until he sold himself and became a slave—eh?'
'You can't tell that story, Roland, you know.'
'Some day I will—I must.'
Alec Feilding threw himself back in his chair, crossed his legs, and joined his fingers. It is an attitude of judicial remonstrance.