"My daughter's not here?" he demanded from the threshold.
"Your daughter's not here." She had rapidly got under arms. "But it's a convenience to me, Mr. Prodmore, that _you_ are, for I've something very particular to ask you."
Her interlocutor crossed straight to the morning-room. "I shall be delighted to answer your question, but I must first put my hand on Miss Prodmore." This hand the next instant stayed itself on the latch, and he appealed to the amiable visitor. "Unless indeed she's occupied in there with Captain Yule?"
The amiable visitor met the appeal. "I don't think she's occupied--anywhere--with Captain Yule."
Mr. Prodmore came straight away from the door. "Then where the deuce _is_ Captain Yule?"
The amiable visitor turned a trifle less direct. "His absence, for which I'm responsible, is just what renders the inquiry I speak of to you possible." She had already assumed a most inquiring air, yet it was soon clear that she needed every advantage her manner could give her. "What will you take----? what will you take----?"
It had the sound, as she faltered, of a general question, and Mr. Prodmore raised his eyebrows. "Take? Nothing, thank you--I've just had a cup of tea." Then suddenly, as if on the broad hint: "Won't _you_ have one?"
"Yes, with pleasure--but not yet." She looked about her again; she was now at close quarters and, concentrated, anxious, pressed her hand a moment to her brow.
This struck her companion. "Don't you think you'd be better for it immediately?"
"No." She was positive. "No." Her eyes consciously wandered. "I want to know how you'd value----"
He took her, as his own followed them, more quickly up, expanding in the presence of such a tribute from a real connoisseur. "One of these charming old things that take your fancy?"
She looked at him straight now. "They _all_ take my fancy!"
"All?" He enjoyed it as the joke of a rich person--the kind of joke he sometimes made himself.
"Every single one!" said Mrs. Gracedew. Then with still a finer shade of the familiar: "Should you be willing to treat, Mr. Prodmore, for your interest in this property?"
He threw back his head: she had scattered over the word "interest" such a friendly, faded colour. She was either _not_ joking or was rich indeed; and there was a place always kept in his conversation for the arrival of money, as there is always a box in a well-appointed theatre for that of royalty. "Am I to take it from you then that you _know_ about my interest----?"