“I wish you’d—you’d come back to Harrisburg and have a good time. Do you feel sure that you’re on the right track——”
“You’re wearing beautiful stockings,” he interrupted. “What on earth are they?”
“They’re embroidered,” she replied, glancing down; “Aren’t they cunning?” She raised her skirts and uncovered slim, silk-sheathed calves. “Or do you disapprove of silk stockings?”
He seemed slightly exasperated, bent his dark eyes on her piercingly.
“Are you trying to make me out as criticizing you in any way, Edith?”
“Not at all——”
She paused. Bartholomew had uttered a grunt. She turned and saw that he had left his desk and was standing at the window.
“What is it?” demanded Henry.
“People,” said Bartholomew, and then after an instant: “Whole jam of them. They’re coming from Sixth Avenue.”
“People?”