Davenant still eyed him pensively. "Do I understand you to be suspicious
of my motives?"

"Suspicious might not be the right word. Suppose we said curious."

Davenant reflected. Perhaps it was his mastery of the situation that
gave him unconsciously a rock-like air of nonchalance. When he spoke it
was with a little smile, which Guion took to be one of condescension.
Condescension in the circumstances was synonymous with insolence.

"Well, sir, suppose I allowed you to remain curious? What then?"

They were the wrong words. It was the wrong manner. Guion looked up with
a start. His next words were uttered in the blind instinct of the
haughty-headed gentleman who thinks highly of himself to save the
moment's dignity.

"In that case I think we must call the bargain off."

Davenant shot out of his seat. He, too, was not without a current of hot
blood.

"All right, sir. It's for you to decide. Only, I'm sorry. Good-by!" He
held out his hand, which Guion, who was now leaning forward, toying with
the pens and pencils on the desk, affected not to see. A certain lack of
ease that often came over Davenant at moments of leave-taking or
greeting kept him on the spot. "I hoped," he stammered, "that I might
have been of some use to you, and that Miss Guion--"

Guion looked up sharply. "Has _she_ got anything to do with it?"