A moment later, Bennett led the conversation around until he found
an opportunity to make a tactful allusion to the report of their
engagement in the morning papers.
He had leaned over and now attempted to take her hand. She
withdrew it, however. There was something about his touch which,
try as she might, she could not like. Was it mere prejudice, or
was it her keen woman's intuition?
Bennett looked at her a moment, suppressing a momentary flash of
anger that had reddened his face, and controlled himself as if by
a superhuman effort.
"I believe you really love that man Kennedy," he exclaimed, in a
tone that was almost a hiss. "But I tell you, Elaine, he is all
bluff. Why, he has been after that Clutching Hand now for three
months--and what has he accomplished? Nothing!"
He paused. Through Elaine's mind there flashed the contrast with
Kennedy's even temper and deferential manner. In spite of their
quarrel and the coolness, she found herself resenting the remark.
Still she said nothing, though her expressive face showed much.
Bennett, by another effort, seemed to grip his temper again. He
paced up and down the room. Then he changed the subject abruptly,
and the conversation was resumed with some constraint.
. . . . . . . .
While Elaine and Bennett were talking, Kennedy and I had entered
the office.
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