Luke was a radical of the reddest; surely it would delight him to have a new cry against the patronising capitalist.
Ackroyd, having heard that whisper, looked up from his paper slowly.
And at once Bower knew that he had made a great miscalculation.
'Other people might think _what_ ?' Luke asked, with gravity passing into anger.
'Well, well; you must take it as I meant it, old man.' Bower was annoyed, and added: 'No doubt Egremont likes to have a pretty gyurl to talk to every morning.

I don't blame him.

Still, if I was Grail--' 'What the devil do you mean, Bower?
What's all this about ?' Ackroyd clearly knew nothing.

The other recovered some of his confidence.
'Well, you needn't let it go further.

It's no good thinking the worst of people.