Fred tried to conceal his conflicting emotions. He did not want to betray his surprise at Storch's sudden and irrational indiscretion.
"Well, if you don't mind," he began to flounder, "I'll—"
Storch gave him a contemptuous shove. "Go on … go on!" he cried, almost impatiently, and the next moment Fred Starratt found himself at Ginger's side… For an instant she stood transfixed as she lifted her eyes to his.
"Don't scream!" he commanded between his locked lips. "I don't want that man to know that—"
She released her breath sharply. "Shall we go in?" she whispered.
He nodded. Storch was pretending to be otherwise absorbed, but Fred knew that he had been intent on their pantomime.
Her room was bare, pitifully bare, swept clean of all the tawdry fripperies that one might expect from such an environment and circumstance. She motioned him wearily to an uncompromising chair, standing herself with an air of profound resignation as she leaned against the cheaply varnished bureau.
"Is this the first time—" she began, and stopped short.
"No … I've watched you every night for nearly two weeks."
"What was the idea?" she threw out, with an air of banter.