“Thank you,” he replied abstractedly.
She smiled at the reluctance in his eyes.
“David is going to stay to luncheon with me,” she announced to Carey as she came into the sitting room.
David winced at the huge bunch of violets fastened to her muff. He remembered with a pang that Fletcher had left him that morning to go to a florist’s. After she had gone Mrs. Winthrop turned suddenly toward him, as he was gazing wistfully at the closed door.
“David,” she asked directly, “why did you refuse our invitation to dine to-night?”
“Why––you see––Mrs. Winthrop––with so 227 many engagements––there is a factory meeting at five––”
“David, you are floundering! That is not like the frankly spoken boy we used to know at Maplewood. I kept you to luncheon to tell you some news that even Carey doesn’t know yet. Mrs. Randall has written insisting that we spend a week at Maplewood before we go West. As we are in no special haste, I shall accept her hospitality.”
David made no reply, and she continued:
“You are going home the day before election?”
“Yes, Mrs. Winthrop,” he replied.