“I’m off,” he said. “Hope I shall see more of you, Mr. Cantor.”
“I should like to call as soon as convenient,” said Cantor, “to present my letters.”
“We don’t go much on letters of introduction out here,” Potter said, smiling. “A letter of introduction never made anybody like a man he didn’t cotton to, nor dislike a man he took a liking to. Call when you like, and don’t bother with the letters.”
Cantor laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. But I’ve always believed that a man coming to a strange place should come well introduced, if he can. People are suspicious of strangers. I have provided myself with letters because it is important to me that there should be no uncertainties about me.”
“Bring them along, then,” said Potter, who was by nature unfitted to understand how anybody could care much what strangers or acquaintances thought of him.
Potter walked to his car, and in a moment was driving toward the street. A runabout which he recognized at once turned into the grounds and a glance showed him Hildegarde von Essen was driving. She saw him at the same instant, and lifted her hand, drawing over to the side of the drive and stopping. He drew up beside her.
“To-morrow’s Tuesday,” she said.
“Now look here, Miss von Essen, your father—”
“My father’s aunt’s rheumatism!” she said. “Father’s in New York, and you promised.”
“I know I promised, but in the circumstances you ought to let me off. He didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, and the Lord only knows what he’d do if I took you flying.”