“One thing, yes.” Roberts ignored the tone absolutely. “I was not at liberty to make the announcement at that time. The deal was just closed last night.”
Armstrong made no further comment, but his high spirits of the early evening had vanished not to return, and shortly thereafter Roberts arose to go. Promptly, seemingly intentionally so, Armstrong followed. In the vestibule, his hat in his hand, by design or chance he caught the visitor’s eye.
“Pardon me a moment,” he apologized, “I—forgot something.”
Perforce Roberts waited while the other man returned to the tiny library they had just vacated. The girl was standing within precisely as when they had left and, as Armstrong did not close the door, the visitor knew to a certainty that his presence as listener and spectator was intentional. It was all a premeditated scene, the climax of the evening.
“By the way, Elice,” said the actor, evenly, “I’ve been considering that Graham offer carefully 69 since I spoke to you about it the other night.” He did not look at her but stood twirling his hat judicially in his hand. “I tried to convince myself that it was for the best to accept; but I failed. I told him so to-day.”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” suggested the girl.
Another pause.
“I hope you’re not—disappointed, Elice.”
Still another pause, appreciable, though shorter than before.