Angry though she was, Jane Loring kept her composure admirably. All the world, it seemed, was conspiring to throw her with this man whom she now knew she must detest. If fate, blind and unthinking, had made him her dinner partner, only design, malicious and uncivil, could be blamed for his presence now. She sat in her corner, her figure tense, her head averted, her wraps carefully drawn about her, a dark and forbidding wraith of outraged dignity, waiting only for him to speak that she might crush him.
Gallatin sat immovable for a moment, conscious of all the feminine forces arrayed against him.
“I make no apologies,” he began with an assurance which surprised her. “I wanted to see you alone and no other chance offered. I suppose I might say I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be true. I’m not sorry and I don’t want any misunderstandings. I asked Mrs. Pennington——”
“Oh!” she broke in wrathfully. “Many people, it seems, enjoy your confidences, Mr. Gallatin.”
“No,” he went on, steadily. “I’m not given to confidences, Miss Loring. Mrs. Pennington is one of my oldest and best friends. I told her it was necessary for me to see you alone for a moment and she took pity on me.”
“Mrs. Pennington has taken an unpardonable liberty and I shall tell her so,” said Jane decisively.
“I hope you won’t do that.”
“Have matters reached such a point in New York that a girl can’t drive out alone without being open to the importunity of any stranger?”
“I am not a stranger,” he put in firmly, and his voice dominated hers. “We met within the Gates of Chance, Miss Loring, on equal terms. I have the right of any man to plead——”
“You’ve already pleaded.”