"If it's something you want to tell grand-ma—" she began, as if to gain time.
"But it isn't," he returned, leaning his head almost inside the open window of the carriage. "It's you I want to talk to—not to your grandmother."
"Then," said she, with a subtle change of manner, "if it is something you don't want grandma to hear, don't try to say it now, for here she comes."
Harry Grant gave a hasty glance behind him, and he recognized the stately figure of Mrs. Winston-Smith in conversation with one of the salesmen just inside the door of the great store.
"Winifred," he said, pleadingly, taking her hand again, "where can I see you again, if only for a minute—only a minute? That's enough for what I want!"
Winifred looked at him and then down at her fingers. She hesitated, and finally she answered:
"I think I heard grandma say she was going to the florist's before she went home—that florist in Broadway near Daly's, you know. She has a lot of things to order there, and I shall sit in the carriage."
"I'll take the cable-car and be there waiting for you," he responded.
"Don't let grandma see you," she cried; "that is—well—"
Then she sank back on the cushions of the carriage, for Mrs. Winston-Smith was about to leave the store.