“They won’t be here for another quarter of an hour. I think I’ll tell Gill to clean out the work-room before they come.”
“Are we to see the drawings for the competition?” his mother asked.
He shook his head smilingly. “Can’t—I’ve asked one or two of the Beaux Arts fellows, you know; and besides, old Darrow’s actually coming.”
“Impossible!” Mrs. Peyton exclaimed.
“He swore he would last night.” Dick laughed again, with a tinge of self-satisfaction. “I’ve an idea he wants to see Miss Verney.”
“Ah,” his mother murmured. There was a pause before she added: “Has Darrow really gone in for this competition?”
“Rather! I should say so! He’s simply working himself to the bone.”
Mrs. Peyton sat revolving her muff on a meditative hand; at length she said: “I’m not sure I think it quite nice of him.”
Her son halted before her with an incredulous stare. “Mother!” he exclaimed.
The rebuke sent a blush to her forehead. “Well—considering your friendship—and everything.”