She looked at the empty place at his table.
“I was going to have some luncheon,” she said; “I have walked so much further than I intended and I am ravenously hungry. May I sit at your table?”
“With much pleasure,” Mr. Blatherwick assented. “I was expecting a—a—friend, but he is evidently not coming.”
“I will take his place then, if I may,” she said, seating herself in the chair which the waiter was holding for her, and raising her veil. “Will you order something for me? I am too hungry to mind what it is.”
Mr. Blatherwick gave a hesitating order, and the waiter departed. Miss Merton drew off her gloves and was perfectly at her ease.
“Now do tell me about the friend whom you were going to meet,” she said, smiling gaily at him, “I hope—you really must not tell me, Mr. Blatherwick, that it was a lady!”
Mr. Blatherwick coloured to the roots of his hair at the mere suggestion, and hastened to disclaim it.
“My—my dear Miss Merton!” he exclaimed, “I can assure you that it was not! I—I should not think of such a thing.”
She nodded, and began to break up her roll and eat it.