"I should like to speak to Mr. Harold Pomeroy, if he is here," she said to the manager, who opened the door and looked much surprised at seeing his visitor.
"Miss Blanchard!" exclaimed young Pomeroy, as he recognized her? "Why, what——"
Nora did not give him time to go on. "I've been taking a long walk," she said, "and am rather late in getting home. I was told you were here, and thought I would ask for your escort back."
"I shall be only too happy," he said, though not without some natural surprise at the direction she had chosen for her walk. But Miss Blanchard was evidently a young lady of peculiar fancies, and, no doubt, she had been looking up some of her queer acquaintances.
"We'll do the rest of these to-morrow, Willett, and I'll report progress, so far," he said, with an air of satisfaction. "Now, Miss Blanchard, I'm at your service. Will you take my arm?"
Nora accepted it, a thing she had never done before, and they walked on together through the still, clear twilight, while bells were chiming and lights gleaming out through the winter dusk.
"What a lovely evening, and how it makes one begin to think of spring!" said Miss Blanchard, as they came out.
And then she went on talking in a somewhat louder tone than usual, about everything she could think of, making young Pomeroy wonder no less at her very unusual loquacity, than he had done at her unexpected appearance. He never knew the reason of either, nor did he notice the strained attention of his companion during the whole walk; how she scrutinized every corner and archway they passed, till she began to be afraid lest her companion should notice her anxiety and hear the loud beating of her heart. They had come about a third of the way, when Nora's quick eye caught sight of some dark figures hovering in the shadow of a line of warehouses with open gateways, and her strained ear caught something like a muttered consultation. She talked on in a still louder tone, not allowing her companion time to put in a word, lest he might, by any chance, say something that might aggravate or enrage the men. As they drew near, she saw that they seemed to move back a little, then edged off to a corner near; and, as Nora and her companion reached it, they saw them clattering heavily away, growling out oaths, all but one, who stood still in the shadow, and whom Nora's quick ear could hear, as he hissed out, between his teeth:
"You —— white-livered coward! You must get a woman to take care of you!"
"There go some of Graeme's amiable 'Knights'!" sneered Harold Pomeroy, who had not caught the words, but knew that something abusive had been said. "That's what comes of strikes. The men loaf about and get drunk and then they get into rows and riots! That's making things better, I suppose!"