"We could have met in a hundred places," Mario continued.
"I could have come to call on you as we arranged."
"No!" cried Joan with more vigour than wisdom in her voice. She had a picture of him, of the embarrassment of the Splays and her friends, of the disapproval of Harry Luttrell.
Escobar was quick when he dealt with women, quick and sensitive. The passionate denial did not escape him. He began to divine the true cause of this swift upheaval and revolution in her.
"You could have sent me a card for the Willoughbys' dance. It would have been easy enough for us to meet there."
Again she replied, "No!" A note of obstinacy was audible.
"Why?"
Joan did not answer at all.
"I'll tell you," Escobar flashed out at her angrily. "You wouldn't be seen with me any more! Suddenly, you would not be seen with me—no, not for the world! That's the truth, isn't it? That's why you come secretly back and bid me meet you in an empty house."
"Hush!" pleaded Joan.