Her tone was proud and insistent.
"You must of course keep your shares," she declared. "As regards the
other matter, my husband can do as he thinks well."
Wingate's eyes flashed his thanks. He drew a little sigh of relief
and deliberately tore in halves the agreement which he had been
holding. Dredlinton leaned over the desk, snatched at the telephone
receiver, threw himself into his chair, and, glared first at Wingate
and then at his wife.
"My God, then," he exclaimed furiously, "I'll keep my word!--Mayfair
67.--I'll drag you through the dust, my lady," he went on. "You shall be
the heroine of one of those squalid divorce cases you've spoken of so
scornfully. You shall crawl through life a divorcee, made an honest woman
through the generosity of an American adventurer!--67, Mayfair, I said."
Phipps shook his head sorrowfully.
"My friend," he said, "this is useless bluster. Put down the telephone.
Let us talk the matter out squarely. Your methods are a little too
melodramatic."
"Go to hell!" Dredlinton shouted. "You are too much out for compromises,
Phipps. There are times when one must strike.--Exchange! I say, Exchange!
Why the devil can't you give me Mayfair 67?--What's that?--An urgent
call?--Well, go on, then. Out with it.--Who's speaking? Mr. Stanley Rees'
servant?--Yes, yes! I'm Lord Dredlinton.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158