"Miss Deane," said Vandervent.
For a moment Penwell stared at the young girl. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"Miss Deane, I didn't want this assignment. But a reporter does what he's told. I can't tell you how glad I am that I can turn in something bigger for the paper. Why, Mr. Vandervent, the paper wouldn't dare take a chance on printing something that Garland said about your fiancée!"
"It might prove rather expensive for the Era," said Vandervent.
But Penwell didn't hear him. He was staring at Clancy. And smiling.
"Miss Deane, I don't know anything about you. I hope you'll tell me something for the paper. But whoever you may be, you've done well in your engagement. You're going to marry one of the whitest—tell me, when was the engagement contracted?"
Clancy colored to the roots of her hair. Vandervent gently pushed the reporter toward the door.
"Come back," he said, "in five minutes and we'll answer that question."
Penwell looked from one to the other. Then he grinned. Then he backed out of the room. For a moment, there was silence between the girl and the man. Vandervent spoke first.
"Was I—impertinent? Do I—assume too much?"