“Don’t be a fool,” he said, in dismay.
“I won’t,” she replied, sweetly. “Trust me. So long, people. I’m going over to have coffee with my husband.”
If the occupants of the big café were surprised to see Nellie Duluth make her way over to the table and sit down with the queer little person in checks, not so Harvey. He arose to greet her and would have kissed her if she had not restrained him. He was gratified, overjoyed, but not surprised.
“Hello!” she said, sharply, to cover the inward disquiet that possessed her. She was looking intently into his eyes as if searching for something she dreaded.
“Hello!” was his response. He was still a trifle dazed.
She sat down opposite him. Before she could think of anything further to say the head waiter rushed up to inquire if Miss Duluth and her friend wouldn’t prefer a table at one of the windows.
“No, this will do,” she said, thankful for the interruption.
“We are doing very nicely,” said Harvey, rather pompously, adding in a loud voice of 112 authority:—“Tell that fellow to hustle my luncheon along, will you?” Then, turning to Nellie, he said:—“You don’t look as though you’d ever been sick a day in your life, Nellie.”
She laughed uncomfortably. “How are you, Harvey? And Phoebe?”
“Fine. Never better. Why don’t you come out and see us occasionally?”