I am here to talk business, if
you don't mind."
"In one moment," Burton replied. "Excuse me for one moment, if you
please."
He hastened across the street and returned a moment or two later with a
bunch of violets in his hand. Mr. Lynn watched him, partly in
amazement, partly in disapproval. There seemed to be very little left
of the smart, businesslike young man whose methods, only a short time
ago, had commanded his unwilling admiration. Mr. Alfred Burton's
expression had undergone a complete change. His eyes had lost their
calculating twinkle, his mouth had softened. A pleasant but somewhat
abstracted smile had taken the place of his forced amiability.
"You will forgive me, won't you?" he said, as he regained the pavement.
"I really haven't smelt violets before this year. Spring comes upon us
Londoners so suddenly."
"About that house, now," the American insisted, a little sharply.
"Certainly," Burton replied, removing his eyes unwillingly from the
passing barrow. "I really don't think you had better take it, Mr.
Lynn. You see, it is not generally known, but there is no doubt that
Lord Idlemay had typhoid fever there."
"Typhoid!" Mr. Lynn exclaimed, incredulously.
His companion nodded.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25