An obstinate note rang in the young voice. Perhaps Miss Austin spoke louder than she meant to, but at any rate, Lockwood heard most of the conversation, and he now opened his door, and said:
“May I offer a photograph? Would you care to have this, Miss Austin?”
The girl looked at him with a white, angry face.
“How dare you!” she cried; “how dare you eavesdrop and listen to a conversation not meant for your ears? Don’t speak to me!”
She drew up her slender figure and looked like a wrathful pixie defying a giant. For Lockwood was a big man, and loomed far above the slight, dainty figure of Miss Mystery.
He smiled good-naturedly as he said, “Now don’t get wrathy. I don’t mean any harm. But you wanted a picture of Doctor Waring, and I’ve several of them. You see, I’m his secretary.”
“Oh,—are you! His private secretary?”
“Yes—his confidential one,—though he has few confidences. He’s a public man and his life is an open book.”
“Oh, it is!” The girl had recovered her poise, and with it her ability to be sarcastic. “Known to all men, I suppose?”
“Known to all men,” repeated Lockwood, thinking far more of the girl he was speaking to than of what he was saying.