Valerie returned into the front office, dropped into her chair, and leaned back for a moment’s respite before attacking a pile of stuff on her desk. She was idly wishing that life could go on forever as it had the last two weeks when she heard familiar voices at the door. She swung round in her chair to see her father and Bishop Lorrimer smiling across the counter.
“Why, dad!” She bounded to her feet. “You might have let me know you were coming.”
“How are you, Dick, old girl? I decided only late last night that I’d come along with the Bishop and have a look at you.”
Davenport Carr was a tall and handsome man with an imposing arrogant head and dissipated face set on a self-indulgent neck. He looked what Valerie had long called him, a tired hedonist. He had the manner of a man used to seeing the multitude tumble over itself to get out of his way. But he was a humane and good-humoured despot for all that. He had rarely found it necessary to show such fangs as he possessed. After all most people were just as ready to serve him as he was ready that they should. He was perfectly dressed in travelling tweeds, and rather dwarfed the importance of the smaller man in black beside him. Bishop Lorrimer was of the ruddy-faced cheerful kind of clerical, who has an inextinguishable faith in the magic of bishop’s blood and the sacraments, and an equally inextinguishable faith in the rights of birth and privilege.
Davenport Carr’s amused blue eyes roamed round the office. “I suppose you’re damned proud of this, Dick?”
“You bet I am. Want to see it all?” For the moment she forgot Dane was on his knees beside the oil engine.
“Rather, if we’ve time.” He looked at the Bishop.
