"You've found him?" Mrs. Newell exclaimed.
"Yes; but--"
She followed his glance and answered it with a slight shrug. "I
can't take you into my room, because there's a dress-maker there,
and she won't go because she is waiting to be paid. Schenkelderff,"
she exclaimed, "you're not wanted; please go and look out of the
window."
The Baron rose and, lighting a cigarette, laughingly retired to the
embrasure. Mrs. Newell flung herself down and signed to Garnett to
take a seat at her side.
"Well--you've found him? You've talked with him?"
"Yes; I have talked with him--for an hour."
She made an impatient movement. "That's too long! Does he refuse?"
"He doesn't consent."
"Then you mean--?"
"He wants time to think it over."
"Time? There _is_ no time--did you tell him so?"
"I told him so; but you must remember that he has plenty. He has
taken twenty-four hours."
Mrs. Newell groaned. "Oh, that's too much. When he thinks things
over he always refuses."
"Well, he would have refused at once if I had not agreed to the
delay.
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