But it determined in him a sharper impatience. "Ah, what would please me! Don't put it off on 'me'! Judge absolutely for yourself"—he slightly took himself up—"in the light of my having consented to do for him what I always hate to do: deviate from my normal practice of never intermeddling. If I've deviated now you can judge. But to do so all round, of course, take—in reason!—your time."
"May I ask then," she said, "for still a little more?"
He looked at this verily as if it was not in reason. "You know," he then returned, "what he'll feel that a sign of."
"Well, I'll tell him what I mean."
"Then I'll send him to you."
He glanced at his watch and was going, but after a "Thanks, father," she had stopped him. "There's one thing more." An embarrassment showed in her manner, but at the cost of some effect of earnest abruptness she surmounted it. "What does your American—Mr. Bender—want?"
Lord Theign plainly felt the challenge. "'My' American? He's none of mine!"
