She did not seem to notice particularly when I raised the gloved hand I held and pressed it to my lips at parting. It was an act that any lady might pardon, and she probably thought nothing of it.
"To-morrow, then, at three," she said, smiling at me from the curbstone.
"Yes. Don't keep me waiting," I answered, remembering the morning.
"I will try not to; these dressmakers are so unreliable, though. You—you wouldn't rather I would come to your rooms? Perhaps there is another of those rules we have been running across, against it. If there is none, and you prefer—"
I said I approved of the idea highly and that I was at liberty to invite to my apartment any person I pleased.
"You spoke of a machine that I have never used," said Miss May, tentatively. "If you have one there, as a sort of excuse—"
"I have one," said I. "Although it won't be needed for that purpose. You remember the number, — West Thirty-fourth."
She nodded and spoke to my driver, repeating it to him. Then with another of her bright smiles she waved me good-by and ascended the steps, while I was driven away.
"Henry," I was saying ten minutes after, to the hall boy, "I expect a young lady to-morrow, between three and four, who will ask for Mr. Camwell."
"There isn't any Mr. Camwell in the house, sir," said the boy.