Mary Wayne followed primly, although she was in a tumultuous state of mind. Of course she had had a night to dwell upon it, but now that she was really entering upon the adventure it seemed more formidable than ever. What an amazingly large person he was; it seemed contradictory, somehow, that a brilliant society man, such as described by Aunt Caroline, should run so aggressively to bulk. And he seemed embarrassed; he was not at all like the man who kicked her chair across the room.
Bill, with the air of a man about to face a firing squad, moved grimly along the upper hall in the direction of the sun-parlor room. There was nothing heroic in his bearing; rather, there was the resignation of despair. And then something happened to awaken him.
Pete Stearns, coming down from the third floor, spotted him.
"Say, listen——"
Then Pete spotted the girl and the sentence froze. He stood with his mouth agape, staring at the procession.
Bill jerked his head higher and set his shoulders. Pete Stearns wouldn't get any satisfaction out of this, if he knew it. He eyed his valet coldly.
"Don't forget to sponge and press those suits, and hurry up about it," he ordered roughly. "When you've done that I may have some errands for you. Look sharp."
He strode past Pete, and Mary Wayne followed. She did not even glance at the amazed valet. Pausing at a door, Bill opened it and held it wide.
"This way, if you please, Miss Norcross," he said, with a bow whose courtliness astonished himself.
She entered the sun-parlor room. Bill followed—and closed the door.