He was like a man shrinking under the whip.

And Fenella--he was quick enough to catch the look in her face, the curl of her lips, the almost wicked flash of her eyes.

Yet in a moment she was laughing.
"Your cheque book, Mr.Weatherley," he remarked, laying it down upon the desk.
Mr.Weatherley barely thanked him--barely, indeed, seemed to realize Arnold's presence.

The latter turned to go.

Fenella, however, intervened.
"Don't go away, if you please, Mr.Chetwode," she begged.