He did not at first see Conniston half hidden in his big
chair. But Conniston saw him, was quick to notice the air of
familiarity, the smile which rested affectionately upon Mr. Crawford
and ran on, no doubt meant to be adoring and certainly was very soft,
to Argyl--and Conniston was seized with a sudden desire to take the
ingratiating Roger Hapgood by the back of the collar and kick him upon
the seat of his beautifully fitting trousers.
"Good evening, Mr. Crawford. I ran in on a little business for Mr.
Winston. Ah, Miss Argyl! So glad to see you."
His little hand, which had been swallowed up in one of Mr. Crawford's,
and which emerged rosy and crumpled, was proffered gallantly to the
girl. And then Hapgood saw Conniston.
"Oh, I say," he stammered, a very trifle confused. "It's Conniston. I
didn't know--"
His pale eyes, under nicely arched brows, went from father to daughter
as though Roger Hapgood were willing to admit that anything which they
thought fit to do was all very right and proper, but that he was none
the less surprised to find them entertaining one of the hired men.
"Yes, I'm still with the Half Moon," Conniston said, still nettled,
but more amused, making no move to rise or put out his hand. "How are
you, Roger?"
"How do, Conniston?" replied Mr. Hapgood, the rising young lawyer.
Conniston idly wondered what had made his friend go to work.
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