Anything I can do for you?"
Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on
his knee.
"Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne."
Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
"Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!" And into those words he put
a certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt the
pressure of his blood increasing.
"Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation."
"What of?"
"Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what."
Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
"Well, you won't get it."
Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered
resolutely:
"It's not the conduct of a gentleman."
Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The
gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the
whites of his eyes grew red.
"Oh!" he said; "indeed! You mind your own business, will you?"
"It is my business--very much so. You made use of my name, and I don't
choose---"
"The devil you don't! Now, I tell you what---"
Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--"you'd better hold your tongue, and
not exasperate me.
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