After this their eyes met but once. He was looking at her, thinking of these things, oblivious of what John Kenyon was saying, unaware of the intentness of his gaze, which at last compelled her to look in his direction. It was a startled glance that she gave him, wide-eyed, almost fearful, as though he had challenged her to this silent combat. Then her lids lowered insolently, her chin lifted and she turned aside.
Their coffee had been served. Phil gulped his down hastily. “Come, Uncle John,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s get out of this, will you?”
John Kenyon paid the check and they rose. Unfortunately the only path to the door lay by Mr. Van Duyn’s table, and as Gallatin passed, nodding to his acquaintances, Mrs. Pennington got up and stood in front of him.
“I do so want to see you for a moment, Phil. Will you excuse me, Coley?” she said, and led the way into a room where she found an unoccupied corner. John Kenyon went elsewhere to smoke his cigar.
“Oh, Phil!” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t you come to see me? I’ve had so much to talk to you about.”
“I—I’ve been very busy, Nellie. I haven’t been anywhere.”
“My house isn’t ‘anywhere.’ I want to talk to you—you know what I mean.”
“It won’t do any good, Nellie,” he muttered. “There isn’t anything more to be said.”
“Perhaps not—but I want to say it just the same. I want you to promise——”