“Phyllis!” cried her mother. “I particularly asked you—”
“I’m sorry,” Phyllis declared again. “We’ll really have to hurry, mother. Good-by, Mr. Ross!”
Her steady blue eyes met his for an instant, but, for all the regret and pain he felt, his stubborn spirit refused to show one trace. Evidently she knew he had tried to run away, and she didn’t want to see him again. Very well!
“Good-by, Miss Barron!” he said.
She turned away, and he, too, would have walked off, but the dauntless Mrs. Barron was not to be thwarted.
“Then I’ll tell you the address!” said she. “Hotel Bernderly—West Seventy-Seventh Street. Don’t forget!”
“I shan’t,” Ross replied. “Thank you! Good-by!”
He went back along the corridor, forgetting all about the note, even forgetting where he was going, until the sight of a white jacket in the distance recalled him.
“Steward!” he shouted.
The man came toward him, anxious and very hurried.