Queenie was off at last, looking sweeter than Marjorie had ever seen her look. Perhaps the girl herself was aware of it, or perhaps it was merely the beauty of the April day and the flowers in her belt; but whatever it was she smiled quietly to herself all the way into the city. She found Mr. Richards on the platform, watching for her amid the stream of people that poured out of the suburban train.
“My, it’s good to see you!” he cried recognizing her from a distance by the violets, rather than by her general appearance. “You didn’t breathe a word of it to Miss Wilkinson?”
“Not a word—though I almost made a slip the very first thing. I was reading your letter in her room, and told her you wanted to meet me in town—and I almost told her why!”
“You’re sure you didn’t?” he inquired, searchingly. Like most men he did not believe that girls could keep secrets.
“No—honor bright! Besides, it may all come to nothing. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint Miss Wilkinson.”
“I think it’s going to pan out all right,” the young man replied with assurance. “Your consent was all that was needed and since you think you’ll like it——”
“Sh!” warned Queenie. “Don’t even let’s talk about it in public, till it’s a sure thing. We might see somebody we know.”
They were making their way along a crowded street now, so crowded that Richards felt obliged to take Queenie’s arm, to keep from being separated. Neither had been paying much attention to the passers-by, but hardly were the words out of the girl’s mouth, than they came face to face with John Hadley!
“Marjor—I beg your pardon,” he stammered, realizing his mistake, “I am very sorry, but I thought——”
Queenie’s laugh rang out clearly, in spite of the publicity of the place.