CHAPTER XVII
One morning a few days later Mostyn entered the bank and went directly to his office. He had been seated at his desk only a moment when Wright, the cashier, came in smiling suavely. There was a conscious flush on his face which extended into his bald pate, and his eyes were gleaming.
"I want to congratulate you," he said. "We've all been reading the account in the paper this morning. Of course, we've suspected it for some time, but didn't want to talk about it till it was announced."
"I haven't seen the article," Mostyn answered, in a tone of curbed irritation. "It was written by some woman society reporter. Miss Langley told me to look out for it. I think she furnished the information."
"Very likely," Wright answered. "Women like nothing better than a wedding in high life."
"Has Saunders come down yet?" the banker inquired.
"Yes, he is at his desk. He just got back from his farm this morning."
"Please tell him"—Mostyn deliberated—"tell him when he is fully at liberty that I'd like to see him."
A moment later Saunders opened the door and came in. A grave look was on his face, and he failed to respond to Mostyn's "Good morning." He paused, and stood leaning on the top of the desk, his glance averted.