"I didn't exactly laugh. But it seems odd. I can't quite think of
you as a merchant."
"To tell you the truth, I can't quite think of myself in that light
either. I'm only a bungler at commerce, but I've worked hard, and I
have a certain amount of knowledge. For one thing, I've got hold of
the language; this last year I've travelled a good deal in Russia
for our firm, and it often struck me that I might just as well be
doing the business on my own account. I dreamt once of a partnership
with our people; but there's no chance of that. They're very close;
besides, they don't make any serious account of me; I'm not the type
that gains English confidence. Strange that I get on so much better
with almost any other nationality--with men, that is to say."
He smiled, reddened, turned it off with a laugh. For the moment he
was his old self, and his wandering eyes kept a look such has had
often been seen in them during that month of torture three years
ago.
"You are quite sure," said Mrs. Hannaford, "that it wouldn't be
better to use your capital in some other way?"
"Don't, don't!" Piers exclaimed, tossing his arm in exaggerated
dread. "Don't set me adrift again. I've thought about it; it's
settled. This is the only way of making money, that I can see."
"You are so set on making money?" said Olga, looking at him in
surprise.
"Savagely set on it!"
"You have really come to see that as the end of life?" Olga asked,
regarding him curiously.
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