He wondered what Miss Winthrop did when she was tired, where she lived and how she lived, if she played bridge, if she spent her summers abroad, who her parents were, whether she was eighteen or twenty-two or -three, and if she sang. All of which had nothing to do with the affairs of the company that wished to dispose of its gold bonds at a price to net four and a half.
At twelve Miss Winthrop rose from her machine and sought her hat in the rear of the office. At twelve-five she came back, passed him as if he had been an empty chair, and went out the door. At twelve-ten he followed. He made his way at once to the restaurant in the alley. She was not in the chair she had occupied yesterday, but farther back. Happily, the chair next to her was empty.
“Will you hold this for me?” he asked.
“Better drop your hat in it,” she suggested rather coldly.
He obeyed the suggestion, and a minute later returned with a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich. 59 She was gazing indifferently across the room as he sat down, but he called her attention to his lunch.
“You see, I got one of these things to-day.”
“So?”
“Do you eat it with a fork or pick it up in your fingers?” he asked.
She turned involuntarily to see if he was serious. She could not tell, but it was a fact he looked perplexed.
“Oh, pick it up in your fingers,” she exclaimed. “But look here; are you coming here every day?”