Gregg left the room; in a few moments the delegation from the rod-mill entered.
Floyd nodded to them gravely as they stood bunched by the door with uncertain, anxious faces.
"I have read your recommendation," he said. "I know of no business in which it is customary for the employees to furnish advice, unsolicited, concerning the management. I will ask you to observe the usual custom. When we feel ourselves in need of advice and think that you can supply it, we will appeal to you. That is all I wanted to say."
He nodded to them again abruptly and turned aside to the desk. They left the room in silence.
Half an hour later he was driving Lydia back along the road to Avalon. She seemed constrained and disinclined to make any reference to the building which she had come to see, and Floyd, understanding plainly enough the cause of this, talked of Letty and described the parties that used to be held in Mrs. Bell's parlor. "I wish you could have met Miss Lally Gorham," he said. "She used to do Shakespeare. One day not long ago I was passing the Women's Club; they had a big sign out announcing that she would give a 'dramatic recital' the next Saturday afternoon. If men had been allowed, I'd have gone to hear her."
"Was she funny?" Lydia asked.
"Funny! No, indeed. Tragic, passionate. She was intending to go on the stage, but perhaps the club gives her sufficient opportunity to display her talent. I should hardly think it would; she had self-confidence for anything."
"I suppose it's always gratifying to see a cock-sure person fail," Lydia observed.
"That's the most cynical speech I ever heard you make," said Floyd.
She turned her face toward him for a moment and he saw that tears stood in her eyes.
