He was gruff, vulgar, ill-tempered; the chief ought to be
kicked for letting her go near him! This was what she had been
told. She laughed softly to herself.
"It is very good indeed of you, Mr. Trent," she said earnestly. "I
was quite nervous about coming, for I had no idea that you would be
so kind. Shall I finish my sketch first, and then perhaps you will
be able to spare me a few minutes for the interview?"
"Just as you like," he answered. "May I look at it?"
"Certainly," she answered, holding out the block; "but it isn't half
finished yet."
"Will it take long?"
"About an hour, I think."
"You are very clever," he said, with a little sigh.
She laughed outright.
"People are calling you the cleverest man in London to-day," she
said.
"Pshaw! It isn't the cleverness that counts for anything that makes
money."
Then he set his teeth hard together and swore vigorously but
silently. She had become suddenly interested in her work. A shrill
burst of laughter from the lawn in front had rung sharply out,
startling them both. A young woman with fluffy hair and in a pale
blue dinner-dress was dancing to an unseen audience. Trent's eyes
flashed with anger, and his cheeks burned. The dance was a
music-hall one, and the gestures were not refined.
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