He was sitting in
front of his open desk, a pile of papers before him, and a long,
black-looking cigar between his teeth. Scarcely glancing up, he motioned
her to a seat.
"In five minutes," he said, "I shall want to talk to you."
She sat down in one of the chairs, now vacant, which had been drawn up
to the study table. The air of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke,
and there were empty liqueur glasses upon the sideboard. Yet Virginia
somehow felt that it was not only to take their after-dinner coffee, and
enjoy a chat over their cigars, that these men had met together around
the table before which she was sitting. She had the feeling somehow that
things had been happening in that little room, of which she and Phineas
Duge were now the only occupants.
"Virginia!"
She turned her head suddenly. Her uncle was looking at her. His eyes had
lost their far-away gleam, and were fixed upon hers, cold and
expressionless.
"Yes, uncle!" she said.
"I want to talk to you for a few moments," he said. "Listen, and don't
interrupt."
She leaned a little toward him in an attitude of attention. The words
seemed to frame themselves slowly upon his lips.
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