The man was, in his way, ugly. His face was certainly not a good
one, although he did not appear to share the immediate weaknesses
of his neighbors. To every note of the song he listened
intently. When it was over, he rose and came toward Tavernake.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but did I not see you come in with
the young lady who has just been singing?"
"You may have," Tavernake answered. "I certainly did come with
her."
"May I ask if you are related to her?"
Tavernake had got over his hesitation in replying to such
questions, by now. He answered promptly.
"I am her brother," he declared.
The man produced a card.
"Please introduce me to her," he begged, laconically.
"Why should I?" Tavernake asked. "I have no reason to suppose
that she desires to know you."
The man stared at him for a moment, and then laughed.
"Well," he said, "you had better show your sister my card. She
is, I presume, a professional, as she is singing here. My desire
to make her acquaintance is purely actuated by business motives."
Tavernake moved away toward the waiting-room.
The man, who according to his card was Mr. Sidney Grier, would
have followed him in, but Tavernake stopped him.
"If you will wait here," he suggested, "I will see whether my
sister desires to meet you."
Once more Mr. Sidney Grier looked surprised, but after a second
glance at Tavernake he accepted his suggestion and remained
outside. Tavernake took the card to Beatrice.
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