"Won't you come with me to my club?" began Woods, but Hugh interrupted by beckoning to the omnipresent porter.
"Thanks! Much obliged! Like to, you know, but have an appointment!" And, shaking his hand, "Good-by!"
"Good-by!" gasped Woods reluctantly, as if desiring one word more. But Hugh, with a grin on his face that awakened renewed expectations on the part of the porter, was making, stiff and straight, for the baggage-room. Once, looking back over his shoulder, he saw that Woods was standing stock still; and again, with another smile, he watched his mystified friend slowly depart.
"Now, then, my man, tell me quickly--you gave her the note? What did she do? Where did she go? Out with it--why don't you speak?"
"All right, sir. Everything's all right. The lady has gone to the hotel," replied the man as soon as Hugh gave him a chance to answer.
"Good. Find me another cab, quick. And here," handing him a dollar.
Meanwhile, Grace Vernon, quite sanguine of soon being with Hugh, was approaching the lower part of the city, reasoning, quite logically, that a downtown hotel was selected on account of the probable absence of the ultra-fashionable set. There, their secret would be safe,--and also they would be nearer the steamer.
Arriving at her destination, Grace dismissed the disappointed cabman, and entered the ladies' waiting-room, where she rang for the clerk.
"Is there a Mr. Ridge staying here?" she asked of him with an assurance that, she flattered herself, was admirably assumed.
"No such person with us, madam. Were you expecting him?"