Julie, nervous and depressed, stole
away before dessert, and Mrs. Da Souza soon followed her, very
massive, and frowning with an air of offended dignity. Da Souza,
who opened the door for them, returned to his seat, moodily flicking
the crumbs from his trousers with his serviette.
"Hang it all, Trent," he remarked in an aggrieved tone, "you might
be a bit more amiable! Nice lively dinner for the women I must say."
"One isn't usually amiable to guests who stay when they're not
asked," Trent answered gruffly. "However, if I hadn't much to say
to your wife and daughter, I have a word or two to say to you, so
fill up your glass and listen."
Da Souza obeyed, but without heartiness. He stretched himself out
in his chair and looked down thoughtfully at the large expanse of
shirt-front, in the centre of which flashed an enormous diamond.
"I've been into the City to-day as you know," Trent continued, "and
I found as I expected that you have been making efforts to dispose
of your share in the Bekwando Syndicate."
"I can assure you - "
"Oh rot!" Trent interrupted. "I know what I'm talking about. I
won't have you sell out. Do you hear? If you try it on I'll queer
the market for you at any risk. I won't marry your daughter, I
won't be blackmailed, and I won't be bullied.
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