Morewood came back, sat down, and poured out a glass of wine.
"Yes, I see what it says," he observed. His mood of malice was gone, he
looked troubled and rather remorseful. "Well, I only repeated what
Maturin said. I'd no idea there was anything about him in the
prospectus."
The two reasonable views were suggested again by Dick and Marchmont.
"It's impossible that I misunderstood him, but of course he may have
changed his mind." He paused, seeming to think. "I gather that he put
nothing in writing?" he went on. "He only talked to you about it?"
After a little pause Jimmy Benyon said, "Not exactly to us--to the people
at the office, you know. And there was nothing in writing as you say--at
least so I understand too."
Morewood passed his hand through his hair; the ruffled locks intensified
the ruefulness of his aspect; he had before his eyes the picture of May
Quisante's silence and her so careful, so deliberate little speech after
it. He tossed off his wine almost angrily, as Dick Benyon rose, saying,
"Let's have coffee in the garden.
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