The Relentless CityBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
General
The Relentless City
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
British -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction
He took a cigar out of his case, bit the end off with his long teeth,
that gleamed extremely white between the very remarkable red of his
lips.
'Look here, Dolly,' he said; 'there are two sides to the relations in
which we are placed. One is purely businesslike; the other is purely
sentimental. It is a pity to let them overlap. It spoils my devotion
to you to feel that it is in a way mixed up with business, and it
offends my instincts as a business man to let sentiment have a word
to say in our bargains. Briefly, then, I forbid your acting for Mrs.
Palmer unless you make it worth my while. After all, I didn't bring you
out here for sentimental reasons; I brought you out because, from a
financial point of view, I thought it would be good for both of us.'
'What do you want?' she asked.
'Half your cheque.'
'For something you haven't arranged, and which won't cost you a penny?'
'Yes. I am talking business. You can close with that offer any time
to-day; to-morrow it will be two-thirds. I'm quite square with you.'
'Americans are Jews,' observed Mrs. Emsworth.
'Possibly; it would be an advantage if everyone was; it would simplify
bargaining immensely. The Gentile mind is often highly unreasonable,
and, instead of allowing both sides to make profits, it simply refuses
to part with its goods. And a fine opportunity goes to--well, to
damnation. You won't score if you don't act for her, nor will I. If you
do, we both shall. Don't be a Gentile, Dolly.'
She did not answer for a moment. Her eyes saw the torn fragments of the
letter in the grate, and she remembered that she had definitely and for
ever torn up what Bertie had written to her. Then she got up, crossed
the room to where he was standing by the fireplace, and put her hands
on his shoulders.
'Are you tired of me?' she asked.
His brown eyes grew black at the fragrance and seductiveness of her
close presence; for the blood is stirred long after the imagination has
ceased to be fired.
'You witch! you witch!' he said.
But in the background on the terrace there still stood the other figure.
CHAPTER VI
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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