The first intimation of the change was conveyed by Mr. Jarrott in a manner characteristically casual. Strange, being about to leave the private office one day, after a consultation on some matter of secondary import, was already half-way to the door, while Mr. Jarrott himself was stooping to replace a book in the revolving bookcase that stood beside his chair.
"By-the-way," he said, without looking up, "Jenkins is going to represent the house in New York. We think you had better take his place at Rosario."
Strange drew himself up to attention. He knew the old man liked his subordinates to receive momentous orders as if they came in the routine of the day.
"Very well, sir," he said, quietly, betraying no sign of his excitement within. Raising himself, Mr. Jarrott looked about uneasily, as if trying to find something else to say, while Strange began again to move toward the door.
Strange stopped so still that the senior partner paused with that air of gentlemanly awkwardness--something like an Englishman's--which he took on when he had firmly made up his mind.
"Mrs. Jarrott," he continued, "begs me to say she hopes you will--a--come and lunch with us on Sunday next."
There was a long pause, during which the young man searched wildly for some formula that would soften his point-blank refusal.
"Mrs. Jarrott is awfully kind," he began at last to stammer, "but if she would excuse me--"
"She will expect you on Sunday at half-past twelve."
The words were uttered with that barely perceptible emphasis which, as the whole house knew, implied that all had been said.
In the end the luncheon was no formidable affair. Except for his fear, lest it should be the thin edge of the wedge of that American social life which it would be perilous for him to enter, he would have enjoyed this peep into a comfortable home, after his long exile from anything of the sort. In building his house at Palermo, Mr. Jarrott had kept, in the outlines at least, to the old Spanish style of architecture, as being most suited to the history and climate of the country, though the wealthy Argentines themselves preferred to have their residences look--like their dresses, jewels, and carriages--as if they had come from Paris. The interior patio was spacious, shaded with vines, and gay with flowers, while birds, caged or free, were singing everywhere. The rooms surrounding it were airy and cool, and adapted to American standards of comfort. In the dining-room mahogany, damask, crystal, and silver gave Strange an odd feeling of having been wafted back to the days and usages of the boyhood of Norrie Ford.