Captain Monk filled in that pause with an impressive arrangement of
eyebrows. Then, fixing his gaze, not upon Lanyard, but upon the point
of a pencil with which his incredibly thin fingers traced elaborate but
empty designs upon the blotter, he opened his lips, hemmed in warning
that he was about to speak, and seemed tremendously upset to find that
Liane was inconsiderately forestalling him.
Her voice was at its most musical pitch, rather low for her, fluting,
infinitely disarming and seductive.
"Let me say to you, mon ami, that--naturally I know what is coming--I
disapprove absolutely of this method of treating with you."
"But it is such an honour to be considered important enough to be
treated with at all!"
"You have the true gift for sarcasm: a pity to waste it on an audience
two-thirds incapable of appreciation."
"Oh, you're wrong!" Phinuit declared earnestly. "I'm appreciative, I
think the dear man's immense."
"Might I suggest"--the unctuous tones of Captain Monk issued from under
mildly wounded eyebrows--"if any one of us were unappreciative of
Monsieur Lanyard's undoubted talents, he would not be with us tonight.
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