“I don’t know,” said the girl, her voice suddenly losing its brightness. “I’m going to think it out. Good-by.”
“Oh, wait a minute. I’ll see you at dinner, shan’t I?”
“Oh, yes; and this evening, I suppose, but only with others present.”
And after a few more words Anita left the booth and walked slowly home.
When Trask returned to his library he said to Lockwood, “Get busy on those old books at once, will you? I want the shelves cleared for some of my own books that I’ve sent for.”
“Very well,” returned the secretary, thinking of the probable difference between the expected books and those they would replace.
“Do you mind, Mr Trask, if I take a few of these old ones myself? I’ll pay you whatever price a first class dealer sets on them.”
“Oh, take what you want, without pay. I’m in a good humor today, Lockwood, better take advantage of it. Help yourself from the shelves.”
“Thank you, I’ll not impose on your kindness and generosity.”
Nor did he, but among the few volumes he chose was the crimson stained copy of Martial’s Epigrams.