“In one moment. I have something to say to you—something you ought to hear.”
“Can't it be said on the other side of the door? I am cold—very cold, Mr. Jastrow.”
It was his saving hint, but he would not take it.
“No, it must be said to you alone. We have at least one thing in common, Miss Carteret—you and I: that is a proper appreciation of the successful realities. I—”
She stopped him with a quick little gesture of impatience.
“Will you be good enough to stand aside and let me go in?”
The keen breath of the snow-caps was summer-warm in comparison with the chilling iciness of her manner; but the secretary went on unmoved:
“Success is the only thing worth while in this world. Winton will fail, but I shan't. And when I do succeed, I shall marry a woman who can wear the purple most becomingly.”
“I hope you may, I'm sure,” she answered wearily. “Yet you will excuse me if I say that I don't understand how it concerns me, or why you should keep me out here in the cold to tell me about it.”
“Don't you? It concerns you very nearly. You are the woman, Miss Carteret.”