“Yes,” she was laughing back at him, however, “something most prodigious has happened. I have an order for one dozen cotillion-favors, to be done in velvet and crimson satin, and delivered next Saturday afternoon!”
Durkin himself laughed shortly, and faced the telephone once more, asking her how time was.
“You haven’t a second to lose!”
His own face was a little paler than usual as he stood before the transmitter, while Frances, with her watch in her hand, went on saying that, if Phipps was punctual, he would be out and away in one minute’s time.
Durkin took a last look around, said under his breath, “Well, here goes!” and placed the receiver to his ear.
For a moment the woman, watching him, with half-parted lips, was haunted by the sudden impression that she had lived through the scene before, that each move and sound were in some way second-hand to her inner consciousness, older than time itself, a blurred and dateless photograph on the plates of memory.
“Hello! Hello! Is that you, Phipps?” she heard him say, and his voice sounded thin and far-away. There was a pause—it seemed an endless pause—and he repeated the query, louder.
“This is Ottenheimer. Yes, something wrong with the ’phone. Don’t cable Teetzel—I say don’t cable Teetzel, about those canary diamonds, until you see me. Yes, Teetzel. Did you get that? Well,—er—what the devil’s our safe combination? Yes, yes, Ottenheimer!”
“Slower—slower, Jim!” groaned the girl, behind him.
“Combination’s slipped my mind, Phipps. Yes; after dinner; want to run down and look over the books. Louder, please; I can’t hear. Yes, that’s better. To the right three times, to seventy-four—back thirty—on eighty-two—back one hundred and eight—and on seven. Yes. It’s the second last figure slipped me. Better close up now. Better close up, I say. All right,—good-bye!”