Lazar took the locket in his hand, then glanced up at the face of the speaker.
“Well?” he inquired coldly.
“There’s a face inside,” Phil stammered. “I thought you might know the owner in that way.”
Lazar opened the locket, and if Phil had not been so much occupied nursing his injured dignity, he might have seen a flash of recognition in Lazar’s face. However, when he looked up it had passed away and a look of boredom had taken its place.
“No, I don’t know her,” he answered shortly, handing Phil the locket. “Is that all?”
“That’s all, sir.”
“WELL?” HE INQUIRED,
COLDLY
Phil withdrew in some confusion, anger and mortification struggling within him.
“I am a child in that man’s hands,” he cried, as he reëntered his own room. “Syd, he awakes in me all the instincts of a brute. I can hardly keep my hands off him.”