The girl was horrified and revolted. She told him so, but he treated with a conqueror’s contempt her frightened attempts to evade him. She was to be his toy, his plaything—or he would not lift a finger to save her father.
On her part she pleaded her love for Roddy, but he told her brutally that the young fellow was a liar. Why had he not produced the concession he alleged he had?
A last Elma, compelled to listen to his specious arguments, almost gave up hope, but before leaving the room she declared that she would starve rather than marry him. And then she closed the door after her.
Ten minutes later Rutherford was shown into the library, and in his most oleaginous manner greeted the ruined financier.
“I have called to keep my appointment, Mr Sandys,” he said. “But since I saw you circumstances have altered somewhat, which makes it incumbent upon me to place the concession elsewhere.”
“Why?” asked Sandys, his face falling. “Well, it is a private matter. I—I really don’t care to discuss it, Mr Sandys. Indeed, I think it is best for me to say that our negotiations must conclude here, even though I regret it very deeply. It is not my fault, but the—well, the barrier—lies in another direction.”
“In what direction?” asked the grey-bearded man who had been clutching at the straw offered him on the previous day.
“Well—if you ask Miss Elma, your daughter, she will explain.”
“My daughter? What has she to do with our propositions?”
“I simply repeat my reply, Mr Sandys. I can’t say more. To tell the truth, I don’t feel capable. I must go now. If you want to see me later you know my telephone number.”