“Not if they work. He talks a good deal, you know,—talks all the time,—and he’s everlastingly knocking girls who do the work he thinks men ought to do.”
“But it’s none of his business,—in this house!”
“Mr. Binney is particularly and especially interested in what’s none of his business!”
The girl spoke so bitterly that Bates looked at her in surprise.
But he was at the ground floor, and as he left the elevator he forgot all else in anticipation of a certain coming delight.
He strolled the length of the great onyx lobby, its sides a succession of broad mirrors between enormous onyx columns with massive gilded capitals. Tall palms were at intervals, alternating with crimson velvet sofas and on one of these, near the vestibule, Bates sat down to wait for the delight.
And in the course of time, she came, tripping along the black and white diamonds of the marble floor, her high heels tapping quickly, her lithe gracefulness hurrying to keep the tryst.
Dorcas Everett was of the type oftenest seen among the well-to-do young girls of New York, but she was one of the best examples of that type.
Wise, sparkling eyes, soft, rounded chin held alertly up, dark, curly hair arranged in a pleasant modification of the latest fashion, her attire was of the most careful tailor-made variety, and her little feathered toque was put on at just the right angle and was most engagingly becoming.
She said no word but gave a happy smile as Bates rose and eagerly joined her and together they passed out through the imposing portal.