There, there!"
The lubricant voice rolled on while Rentoul Smiles manipulated the
camera. He clasped the bulb again and again threw it dramatically
away.
"I'm through!" he said. "Don't expect anything very grand,
Miss Isabel. What I've been trying to do this afternoon is my
interpretation of you as I've studied your personality in your
speeches. If I believed wholly in your cause, or if I wholly
disbelieved in it, my work would not have been good. Any value that
it has will be due to the sympathetic impartiality of my spiritual
attitude. Although"--he menaced her with the licensed familiarity of a
philosopher--"although, lady, I must say that I felt you were working
against me all the time.... This way!"
(Edward Henry, recalling the comparative simplicity of the London
photographer at Wilkins's, thought: "How profoundly they understand
photography in America!")
Isabel Joy rose and glanced at the watch in her bracelet, then
followed the direction of the male hand and vanished.
Rentoul Smiles turned instantly to the other doorway.
"How do, Rent?" said Seven Sachs, coming forward.
"How do, Seven?" Mr. Rentoul Smiles winked.
"This is my good friend, Alderman Machin, the theatre-manager from
London."
"Glad to meet you, sir."
"She's not gone, has she?" asked Sachs, hurriedly.
"No, my housekeeper wanted to talk to her.
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