“Well, I accept the compliment. But—you know what the old song says: ‘A girl’s best friend is her lover.’ I can see, Helen, where I pass out.”
“Oh, Margy!” she exclaimed, adjusting her veil quickly.
Morton’s return at that moment ended the confidences between the girls. He was now, he told them, entirely at their service. It was then arranged that he should call for Helène at seven o’clock at the address given him by Margaret.
Helène’s hand lingered an instant in Morton’s at parting, and as he saw her happy face he knew that he was welcome.
Morton drove to his rooms. Events had been crowding on him and he wanted to be alone. On his way he stopped at a florist’s and ordered flowers to be sent to the house in Gramercy Park.
Once in his room he drew a deep chair to the window and after lighting a cigar sat down to his thoughts.
How beautiful she was! More beautiful than even he had pictured her in his dreams. This evening she would tell him everything and explain why she had kept herself away from him. And how pleased she had been to see him! One look at her face had assured him that no other man had come between them. She must have carried out her intention and come to New York to work for her living. That explained Miss Fisher. By George, that woman was a splendid protectress! He had no fault to find with her—not in the slightest. Yes—he must put off his Western journey, now.
John rose and began walking the room, whistling and smoking by turns, smiling happily. His valet in the next room could hardly believe his ears. He came obedient to a summons and was ordered to lay out evening clothes. Mr. Morton would stay in town over Saturday night. What had come over his master?
John had told his mother that he would be detained in town that night and promised to be with her for luncheon the next day. He had laughed to himself as he thought of the guessing match that would follow, between mother and daughter. Ah, if they only knew!
He dressed with great care and took a hansom, thinking it would be more fitting than his own more pretentious carriage, and as he drove down the avenue he could not forbear smiling at his thought—he was just like any ordinary young “chap” calling on his “best girl.”