"Rot!" he said thickly.

"Talk sense, Leila! And keep this hard-headed Dutchman for yourself, if you feel that way about it.

I don't want to butt in.

I only thought--for old times' sake--perhaps you'd--" "Good night," she managed to say, her disgust almost strangling her.
And he went, furtively, heavy-footed, perplexed, inwardly cursing his blunder in stirring up a sleeping lioness whom he had so long mistaken for a dozing cat.
For hours he sat in his room, or paced the four walls, doubtful, chagrined, furious by turns.

Once he drew out a memorandum-book and stood under a lighted sconce, studying the figures.