He rose to go, taking her hand.
“Then I’ll send the car for you,” he promised her.
He was sitting at his office desk when Molly the Merry once more came into his mind. An ejaculation escaped his lips, and he made a wry face. Then, in comparison, Jinnie, with all her sparkling youth, rose triumphant before him. He loved the child, for a child she still seemed to him. To tell her now of his affection might harm her work. He would wait! She was so young, so very young.
For a long time he sat thinking and dreaming of the future, and into the quiet of his office he brought, in brilliant vision, a radiant, raven-haired woman—his ideal—his Jinnie. Suddenly again he remembered his promise to Molly and slowly took down the telephone. Then deliberately he replaced it. It would be easier to explain the circumstances face to face with her, and no doubt entered his mind but that the woman would be satisfied and 189 very glad that Jinnie was coming with her violin to play for them. Molly wouldn’t mind postponing her trip for a few days.
Molly was reclining as usual in the hammock with a book in her hand when he ran up the steps.
“Molly,” he began, going to her quickly, “I want to confess.”
“Confess?” she repeated, sitting up.
“Yes, it’s this way: When I went out this morning I felt sure I could arrange about to-morrow.... But what do you think?”
Miss Merriweather put down the book, stood up, her hand over her heart.
“I can’t guess,” she breathed.