"This is Bourbon I've got over here," he added. "I suppose you prefer
Scotch."
"I don't believe I want anything more to drink just now," Rodney said.
And as he turned to the smoking table to get a cigar, Randolph allowed
himself another sardonic grin.
The preliminaries were gone through rather elaborately; chairs drawn up
and adjusted, ash-trays put within reach; cigars got going
satisfactorily. But the talk they were supposed to prepare the way for
didn't at once begin.
Randolph took another stiffish drink and settled back into a dull
sullen abstraction.
Rodney wanted to say, "I hear from Rose you had a little visit with her
in New York." But, with his host's mood what it was, he shrank from
introducing that topic. Finally, for the sake of saying something, he
remarked:
"This is a wonderful room, isn't it?"
Randolph roused himself. "Never been in here before?" he asked.
"I've never been in the house before, I'm ashamed to say."
"What!" Randolph cried. "My God! Well, then, come along.
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