“I never called on a man before,” she laughed.
“I had made up my mind only a little while before,” he continued, “to stay in Chicago till I found you.”
“I’m afraid that would not have been easy.” She returned the pressure of his hand, which had found hers. “If it hadn’t been for those papers, we might never have met.”
“We were bound to meet—you and I,” he said. “I have been waiting all my life just for you.”
“But even now you don’t know who I am. I may be a—a political adventuress—or a woman detective—or——”
“You may be,” he said, “but you are the woman I love. Your name—your business, if you have one—those things don’t matter. I know you, and I love you.”
She leaned closer to him. “Dear,” she whispered impulsively, “I am going to tell you everything—who I am, and about the papers——”
“Wait!” He held his hand before her mouth. “Don’t tell me now. Do as you planned to do. Be simply ‘Girl’ to me for a while longer.”
She moved closer to him. Their errand, the danger, were for the time forgotten, and the motor hummed along with a burden of happiness.
“You haven’t looked at the papers yet,” said Orme, after a time. They were turning east toward Lincoln Park.