Politely the young man stepped back a little. Miss Torrance gave Olive a long and severe glance.
“No!” said she.
Olive was silent for a moment. Then she raised her eyes to her friend’s face.
“But I’d like to,” she said quietly.
Then Miss Torrance had her turn at being silent.
“Very well!” she said, at last.
In those two words there was something not far from tragedy. Miss Torrance was not stupid. She had seen in Olive’s face the dawn of a new spirit of independence, and the shadow of the end of her own fiercely benevolent despotism. And she loved Olive so!
She put on her hat—such a smart little hat!—and, at that moment, she hated it. It was absurd that any one who felt as she[Pg 184] did just then should wear a jaunty little hat like this!
The young man was standing by the open door of the taxi. In they got, she and Olive side by side, the stranger facing them. There was something else in that cab which almost stifled Miss Torrance—something which she insisted upon in stories, but found unbearable here—something known professionally as “heart interest.” Olive did not speak one word, and did not stir. The stranger’s conversation was quite impersonal, and yet Miss Torrance knew. It seemed to her that she knew exactly what was in the minds of her companions.
The young fellow’s cheerful voice was speaking in the darkness.