With his arms still about her shoulder he stood looking down at her. A hot tide of crimson made its way slowly to her brow and then receded, accentuating the clear pallor of her face.
“That was a real kiss, dear,” he said slowly. “We mustn’t get such things confused. I won’t bother you with talking about it to-night, or until you are ready. Until then we’ll pretend that it didn’t happen, but if the thought of it should ever disturb you the least bit, dear, you are to remember 218 that the time is coming when I shall have something to say about it; will you remember?”
“Yes, Uncle David,” Eleanor said uncertainly, “but I—I—”
David took her unceremoniously by the shoulders.
“Go now,” he said, and she obeyed him without further question.
CHAPTER XVIII
Beulah’s Problem
Peter was shaving for the evening. His sister was giving a dinner party for two of her husband’s fellow bankers and their wives. After that they were going to see the latest Belasco production, and from there to some one of the new dancing “clubs,”—the smart cabarets that were forced to organize in the guise of private enterprises to evade the two o’clock closing law. Peter enjoyed dancing, but he did not as a usual thing enjoy bankers’ wives. He was deliberating on the possibility of excusing himself gracefully after the theater, on the plea of having some work to do, and finally decided that his sister’s feelings would be hurt if she realized he was trying to escape the climax of the hospitality she had provided so carefully.