“Oh!” said Miss Torrance, too.
She certainly had forgotten, for the moment, that they had come out simply for a walk, and hadn’t meant to go to the movies, or to buy the cake of chocolate they had just eaten inside. To-morrow was pay day at the office, and only that morning Miss Torrance had deposited the week’s surplus in the savings bank, and Olive never had any surplus.
“I’ll stop him!” she said hurriedly, and she, too, dashed off into the rain.
Just as she reached the curb, the young man arrived there on the running board of a taxi.
“Here you are!” said he, opening the door.
“I meant—” said Miss Torrance. “Thank you just the same, but we have changed our minds. We—we are going in the subway; but thank you.”
The lights from the brilliant lobby shone across the street, making it very bright where they were. The rain was pelting down on her sleek blond head. The valiant little white ruffle at her neck was already beaten flat, but she herself was indomitable—a little woman and a good-looking one, although, by her severe expression and her curt manner, you might fancy that she was trying to deny both the littleness and the good looks, and to force you to remember only her thirty-five years and her ability to earn her own living.
“But—” protested the young man.
“Thank you, just the same,” said Miss Torrance again, and, turning, hastened back to Olive.
The stranger was not a faint-hearted young man, however. He followed her.