"I've ordered a taxi," said Dorothy. "It'll be here in five minutes."
"Good for you, Mrs. Armstrong!" Jimmy Wren broke into a laugh. "I'm mighty sorry for the way I must have startled you. I was in a panic, that's all."
"Got over it now?" demanded Armstrong, his eyes twinkling.
"You bet! I must have been a fool to let Findlater work me up that way."
Armstrong accompanied Jimmy Wren to the station, and saw him off. The last state of that young man was considerably better than the first; whereas he had arrived an hour previously in the depths of violent and nervous panic, he departed beaming, radiating assured optimism.
"Jimmy's all right," thought Armstrong, as he went home from the station. "That devil Findlater simply knew how to drive him frantic, and did it! No wonder the whole office bunch is scared. The threat of indictment is enough to scare anybody who isn't absolutely sure of his standing. We'll soon show Findlater where he gets off!"
When Armstrong reached home, Dorothy was waiting for him, and drew him back upstairs to the library. He perceived that she was very serious; but not until they were alone behind the closed doors did she speak. Then, turning to him, she took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.
"Well?" he asked, smiling. "Jimmy hasn't scared you, too?"
"No. Reese, there's something I must say to you now—no, I shan't sit on your lap! I have to keep my head clear, and if your arms are around me I can't think of anything else. Listen, dear! Do you remember our wedding day?"
"I hope so," returned Armstrong whimsically. "Don't you?"