The maid promptly admitted him.
But to make sure that he would not fail in his purpose to see
Clare—that she would not escape from the Club as quietly as she had
left Tottie's, he now lifted the bird-cage into view. "Tell Miss
Crosby that Mr. Hull has brought the canary," he added.
"Very well,"—the servant went up the stairs at a leisurely pace that was irritating.
She did not return. Instead, Clare herself appeared at the top of the staircase, and descended slowly, looking calmly at him as she came. Her hat was off, and she had tidied her hair. Something in her manner caused him to move his right arm, as if he would have liked to screen the cage. She glanced at the bird, then at him. Her look disconcerted him. His pince-nez dropped to the end of its ribbon, and clinked musically against a button.
She did not speak until she reached his side. "I just called the
Northrups on the 'phone and asked for you," she began.
"Oh?" He made as if to set the cage down.
"You'd better bring it into the sitting-room," she said.
"Yes." He reddened.
The sitting-room of the Club was a full sister to that garish front-parlor of Tottie's, but a sister tastefully dressed. The woodwork was ivory. The walls were covered with silk tapestry in which an old-blue shade predominated. The curtains of velvet, and the chairs upholstered in the same material, were of a darker blue that toned in charmingly with the walls. Oriental rugs covered the floor.
"You need not have brought an—excuse," Clare observed, as she closed the door to the hall.