“Oh, we were not intimate at all, you know,” explained the girl, “it was seven years since I had seen him. It was just the ordinary acquaintance of schoolmates.”
“I can’t see that that alters the discourtesy. But go on.”
“Why, that’s all,” said the girl, suddenly feeling as if she had been very foolish indeed to come. “I—just thought—if you didn’t know where he was—that perhaps I was the last one who had seen him, and you would want to make some inquiries if you knew there had been an accident. But of course it was foolish. You probably know all about him, and I beg you won’t say anything to him about me. I’m sorry I have troubled you. I’m always doing something impulsive! I hope you will pardon my intrusion—” She turned quickly toward the door with an odd little look of sweet dignity. She felt she was almost on the verge of tears, and must get away quickly, or she would break down right here before him.
“Wait a minute!” said the man sharply. “What did you say your name was?”
“Oh, please, it doesn’t matter,” she said, with her hand on the door-knob.
“Excuse me, it does matter. I might want to ask some more questions. You’ve guessed right about Murray, I don’t know where he is. I am taking it for granted that he will turn up all right, as he usually does, but at the same time there may be something in what you have suggested, and I’ll look around and make sure. In the meantime, may I ask you to keep this just between ourselves?”
“Certainly,” said the girl.
“And—I wouldn’t try to see Mrs. Van Rensselaer again—she’s—rather excitable—”
“I certainly shall not!” said Elizabeth, her cheeks growing very red at the remembrance of the insult.
“And I’m sorry that you had to endure such impudence from that cat of a maid. She’s insufferable!”