“You will be helping the mayor more by listening to me,” I continued earnestly, “than by anything you can do here. Believe me, Mr. Steele, I am no foolish, unadvised girl. I know what I am talking about.”
He suppressed an impatient sigh and endeavored to show a proper appreciation of my own estimate of myself and the value of my communication.
“I am at your service,” said he.
I wished he had been a little more enthusiastic, but, careful not to show my disappointment, I added, as I led the way to the door:
“I wish we could think of some way of securing ourselves from interruption. Nixon does not like me, and will be sure to interest himself in our movements if he sees us go down that hall together.”
“Is there any harm in that?”
“There might be. He is suspicious of me, which makes it impossible for one to count upon his conduct. If he saw us meddling with the cabinet, he would be very apt to rush with his complaints to Mrs. Packard, and I am not ready yet to take her into our confidence. I want first to be sure that my surmises are correct.”
“You are quite right.” If any sarcasm tinged this admission, he successfully hid it. “I think I can dispose of Nixon for a short time,” he went on. “You are bent upon meddling with that vestibule floor?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I should advise not?”