“I suppose she doesn’t particularly mind my knowing anything,” he reflected, “because, as far as she’s concerned, I don’t count.”
This idea pleased him as much as it would please any other young fellow of twenty-six. And, combined with his many anxieties, and his hatred and impatience toward his present position, it produced in him a very unchivalrous mood. He brought the car into the garage, and sat down on its step, with his watch in his hand. He gave Amy thirty minutes in which to send him a message.
Of course she didn’t send any. Then he went to the telephone which connected with the house. Gracie’s voice answered him.
“I want to speak to Miss Solway!” he said.
“I’ll see,” said Gracie.
He waited and waited, feeling pretty sure that Amy would not come; that she would, indeed, never speak to him or think of him unless she wanted him to do something for her. But presently, to his surprise, he heard her voice, so very gentle and sweet that he could scarcely recognize it.
“Moss?” she said, as if in wonder.
“Yes,” he said. “Look here! I’d like to—”
“I don’t think I’ll want the car all day,” said she. “Not in this weather.”
“Look here!” he began, again. “I want to speak to you. Now.”