Quarrier looked at Lydia, and his lips moved: "You asked me to come," he said.
"No; you offered to. I wished to talk to you over the wire, but "--her lip curled, and she shrugged her shoulders--"you seemed to be afraid of something or other."
"I couldn't talk to you in my own house, with guests in the room."
"Why not? Did I say anything your fashionable guests might take exception to? Am I likely to do anything of that kind?--you coward!"
Quarrier stood very still, then noiselessly turned and made one step toward the door.
"One moment," interposed Mortimer blandly. "As long as I travelled down town to see you, and find you here so unexpectedly, I may as well take advantage of this opportunity to regulate a little matter. You don't mind our talking shop for a moment, Lydia? Thank you. It's just a little business matter between Mr. Quarrier and myself--a matter concerning a few shares of stock which I once held in one of his companies, bought at par, and tumbled to ten and--What is the fraction, Quarrier? I forget."
Quarrier thought deeply for a moment; then he raised his head, looking full at Mortimer, and under his silky beard an edge of teeth glimmered. "Did you wish me to take back those shares at par?" he asked.
"Exactly! I knew you would! I knew you'd see it in that way!" cried Mortimer heartily. "Confound it all, Quarrier, I've always said you were that sort of man--that you'd never let a friend in on the top floor, and kick him clear to the cellar! As a matter of fact, I sold out at ten and three-eighths. Wait! Here's a pencil. Lydia, give me that pad on your desk. Here you are, Quarrier. It's easy enough to figure out how much you owe me."
And as Quarrier slowly began tracing figures on the pad, Mortimer rambled on, growing more demonstrative and boisterous every moment. "It's white of you, Quarrier--I'll say that! Legally, of course, you could laugh at me; but I've always said your business conscience would never let you stand for this sort of thing. 'You can talk and talk,' I've told people, many a time, 'but you'll never convince me that Howard Quarrier hasn't a heart.' No, by jinks! they couldn't make me believe it. And here's my proof--here's my vindication! Lydia, would you mind hunting up that cheque-book I left here before dinn--"
He had made a mistake. The girl flushed. He choked up, and cast a startled glance at Quarrier. But Quarrier, if he heard, made no motion of understanding. Perhaps it had not been necessary to convince him of the conspiracy.