“Look here!” he said earnestly. “You haven’t even an umbrella. You’ll catch cold!”
“Thank you, but it can’t be helped,” said Miss Torrance.
She spoke sternly, but she didn’t really dislike this man. There was something rather engaging about him, and she was very much pleased to observe that not once did he even glance at Olive. Miss Torrance did not wish strange young men to look at Olive.
“I meant to take a taxi, anyhow,” said he. “Won’t you please let me drop you?”
He looked at Miss Torrance with a wistful, humble expression, which she knew very well to be false. There was precious little humility in that young man! Still, she didn’t dislike him on that account, either. Indeed, she was almost ready to smile, when he added:
“I’m going through West Twelfth Street. If you live anywhere near there—”
All thoughts of smiling abandoned her.
“Thank you, no!” she replied frigidly. “Good evening! Come, Olive!”
To her dismay, Olive did not come.
“Let’s!” the girl whispered. “Why not? He seems—”