“Really, you know,” he murmured, “this is getting just a little serious.”
“It is very serious,” she stammered.
And then Thorold noticed that the new journalist was softly weeping.
V.
The door opened.
“Miss Kitty Sartorius,” said the erstwhile liftman, who was now in plain clothes and had mysteriously ceased to squint.
A beautiful girl, a girl who had remarkable loveliness and was aware of it (one of the prettiest women of the Devonshire), ran impulsively into the room and caught Miss Fincastle by the hand.
“My dearest Eve, you’re crying. What’s the matter?”
“Lecky,” said Thorold aside to the servant. “I told you to admit no one.”
The beautiful blonde turned sharply to Thorold.