THE IVORY TOWER
"No then, Graham—remember that. You'd like to have persuaded me that I don't know what I mean. But you must understand you haven't."
His hand had loosened, and Gray got up, turning a face now flushed and a little disordered from one of them to the other. "I don't pretend to understand anything!"
It turned his uncle to their companion. "Isn't he fine?"
"Of course he's fine," said Miss Goodenough; "but you've quite worn him out."
"Have I quite worn you out?" Mr. Betterman calmly inquired.
As if indeed finished, each thumb now in a pocket of his trousers, the young man dimly smiled. "I think you must have—quite."
"Well, let Miss Mumby look after you. He'll find her there?" his uncle asked of her colleague. And then as the latter showed at this her first indecision, "Isn't she somewhere round?" he demanded.
Miss Goodenough had wavered, but as if it really mattered for the friend there present she responsibly concluded. "Well, no—just for a while." And she appealed to Gray's indulgence. "She's had to go to Mr. Gaw."
"Why, is Mr. Gaw sick?" Mr. Betterman asked with detachment.
"That's what we shall know when she comes back. She'll come back all right," she continued for Gray's encouragement.
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