“Don’t worry about me, dad.  I shall do wonders.  It’s quite easy to make a large fortune.  I watched uncle Pete in his office this morning, and all he does is sit at a mahogany table and tell the office-boy to tell callers that he has gone away for the day.  I think I ought to rise to great heights in that branch of industry.  From the little I have seen of it, it seems to have been made for me!”

CHAPTER XXVI

EVERYBODY HAPPY

Jimmy looked at Ann.  They were alone.  Mr. Pett had gone back to bed, Mrs. Crocker to her hotel.  Mr. Crocker was removing his make-up in his room.  A silence had followed their departure.

“This is the end of a perfect day!” said Jimmy.

Ann took a step towards the door.

“Don’t go!”

Ann stopped.

“Mr. Crocker!” she said.

“Jimmy,” he corrected.

“Mr. Crocker!” repeated Ann firmly.

“Or Algernon, if you prefer it.”

“May I ask—­” Ann regarded him steadily.  “May I ask.”

“Nearly always,” said Jimmy, “when people begin with that, they are going to say something unpleasant.”

“May I ask why you went to all this trouble to make a fool of me?  Why could you not have told me who you were from the start?”

“Have you forgotten all the harsh things you said to me from time to time about Jimmy Crocker?  I thought that, if you knew who I was, you would have nothing more to do with me.”

“You were quite right.”

“Surely, though, you won’t let a thing that happened five years ago make so much difference?”

“I shall never forgive you!”

“And yet, a little while ago, when Willie’s bomb was about to go off, you flung yourself into my arms!”

Ann’s face flamed.

“I lost my balance.”

“Why try to recover it?”

Ann bit her lip.

“You did a cruel, heartless thing.  What does it matter how long ago it was?  If you were capable of it then—­”

“Be reasonable.  Don’t you admit the possibility of reformation?  Take your own case.  Five years ago you were a minor poetess.  Now you are an amateur kidnapper—­a bright, lovable girl at whose approach people lock up their children and sit on the key.  As for me, five years ago I was a heartless brute.  Now I am a sober serious business-man, specially called in by your uncle to help jack up his tottering firm.  Why not bury the dead past?  Besides—­I don’t want to praise myself, I just want to call your attention to it—­think what I have done for you.  You admitted yourself that it was my influence that had revolutionised your character.  But for me, you would now be doing worse than write poetry.  You would be writing vers libre.  I saved you from that.  And you spurn me!”

“I hate you!” said Ann.

Jimmy went to the writing-desk and took up a small book.