"Wright says you wish to see me," he began.
"Yes, sit down; pull that chair up."
Saunders complied, his eyes on the floor.
"I suppose you've seen the morning paper?" Mostyn asked.
"You mean the—announcement of your—"
"Yes, of course."
"I saw the head-lines. I didn't read it through."
Silence crept between the two men. Mostyn touched a paper-weight with his slender, bloodless fingers, drew it toward him aimlessly, and then pushed it back.
"There is a matter," he began, awkwardly, "which I want to speak to you about. It is due you to know why I drew out that ten thousand dollars. It went to Marie Winship. If you are not satisfied with the collateral I can put up something else."
"It is all right." Saunders dropped the words frigidly. "I knew it was for her. The truth is, I supposed that little less would quiet her." "You, no doubt, consider me the champion idiot of the world." Mostyn essayed a smile, but it was a lifeless thing at best, and left his face more grimly masked than before. "However, it is all over now. She is satisfied, and agrees to quit hounding me from now on."