Presently she finished, and arose from the table. She meant to go for a little stroll, and for that reason she wore her hat, and carried a long fur coat on her arm. One of the bell boys held this while she slipped into it, and then she turned toward the door, drawing on her gloves as she made her way slowly toward it.
All at once she gave a quick little gasp, as her eyes fell upon a man standing by the desk, and turned her head swiftly the other way. But she was too late. The next instant Ralph Bryton had spied her, and stepped to her side.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said, with an attempt at geniality. “I saw by the register that you had arrived last night.”
The girl did not glance at him, but went steadily on her way.
“Good morning, Mr. Bryton,” she returned frigidly.
There was a disagreeable note in the man’s laugh.
“How very formal we are,” he said sarcastically. “I can remember the time, not so very long ago, when it was Ralph.”
“You know perfectly well that was on your father’s account,” she retorted. “Brought up as I was in his house, I could scarcely have called you anything else while he was alive. Now I can follow my own inclinations.”
The man’s face darkened. They had reached the door, and, as she was about to pass out, he put out one hand swiftly, and held the knob.
“One moment,” he said shortly. “I must have a few minutes’ talk with you before you go out. Oh, it’s about business,” he went on bitterly, as a repugnance flashed across her face. “I want to talk to you about Demarest and this fool play of his.”