He stood there in the middle of that gorgeous room—a fat figure of a man suffering a cruel inhuman agony.
He was still standing thus when the tall man came running back. Apprehension clouded that sallow face.
"It was very kind of you." The small eyes of the clerk darted everywhere; then came back to Martin Wall. "I'm obliged—why, what's the matter, sir?"
Martin Wall passed his hand across his eyes, as a man banishing a terrible dream.
"The little girl?" he asked.
"Hardly a scratch," said the clerk, pointing to the smiling child at his side. "It was lucky, wasn't it?" He was behind the counter now, studying the trays unprotected on the show-case.
"Very lucky." Martin Wall still had to steady himself. "Perhaps you'd like to look about a bit before I go—"
"Oh, no, sir. Everything's all right, I'm sure. You were looking at these stones—"
"Some other time," said Wall weakly. "I only wanted an idea of what you had."
