“Perhaps I was inclined to be short-tempered,” he admitted. “You see, to be frank with you, the department of our business that was going wrong was the one over which Morrison has had sole control. He had entered into certain speculations which I considered unjustifiable. To-day, however, matters took an unexpected turn for the better.”
Almost as he spoke his face clouded. Morrison, of course, would be triumphant. Perhaps he would even expect to be reinstated. For many reasons, this was a thing which Laverick did not desire.
“Now tell me,” he continued, “what is the matter with Morrison, and why has he sent for me, and, if you will pardon my saying so, why is he here instead of in his own rooms?”
“You will please explain sitting down,” he said firmly. “And don’t look so terrified,” he added, with a little laugh. “I can assure you that I am not going to eat you, or anything of that sort. You make me feel quite uncomfortable.”
She smiled for the first time, and Laverick thought that he had never seen anything so wonderful as the change in her features. The strained rigidity passed away. An altogether softer light gleamed in her wonderful eyes. She was certainly by far the prettiest child he had ever seen. As yet he could not take her altogether seriously.
“Thank you,” she said, sinking down upon the arm of an easy-chair. “first of all, then, Arthur is here because he is my brother.”
“Your brother!” Laverick repeated wonderingly.
Somehow or other, he had never associated Morrison with relations. Besides, this meant that she must be of his race. There was nothing in her face to denote it except the darkness of her eyes, and that nameless charm of manner, a sort of ultra-sensitiveness, which belongs sometimes to the highest type of Jews. It was not a quality, Laverick thought, which he should have associated with Morrison’s sister.
“My brother, in a way,” she resumed. “Arthur’s father was a widower and my mother was a widow when they were married. You are surprised?”
“There is no reason why I should be,” he answered, curiously relieved at her last statement. “Your brother and I have been connected in business for some years. We have seen very little of one another outside.”
“I dare say,” she continued, still timidly, “that Arthur’s friends would not be your friends, and that he wouldn’t care for the same sort of things. You see, my mother is dead and also his father, and as we aren’t really related at all, I cannot expect that he would come to see me very often. Last night, though, quite late—long after I had gone to bed—he rang the bell here. I was frightened, for just now I am all alone, and my servant only comes in the morning. So I looked out of the window and I saw him on the pavement, huddled up against the door. I hurried down and let him in. Mr. Laverick,” she went on, with an appealing glance at him, “I have never seen any one look like it. He was terrified to death. Something seemed to have happened which had taken away from him even the power of speech. He pushed past me into this room, threw himself into that chair,” she added, pointing across the room, “and he sobbed and beat his hands upon his knees as though he were a woman in a fit of hysterics. His clothes were all untidy, he was as pale as death, and his eyes looked as though they were ready to start out of his head.”