The slight trace of a frown flitted across her brow.

She had always thought of Gresham as a man of perfect breeding.
"Name the right figure.

I'll make a deal with you on the spot." "This is scarcely the place for business," Gresham reproved him.
"I beg pardon," Gamble quickly said, and looked at Constance, a trifle abashed.
"Please go ahead," that young lady urged.

"This is more fun than the races." "Thanks." He smiled gratefully, "Now, Gresham, let's get down to statistics.

These are working hours.