"I do not believe I shall like her either," said Phyllis. "Good night;" and the door swung to.
Pembroke and I made off for the club. . . . Perhaps it was my enthusiasm.
CHAPTER XVII
I had just left the office when I ran into Pembroke, who was in the act of mounting the stairs. It was Saturday morning. Phyllis had left town.
"Hello!" he cried. "A moment more, and I should have missed you, and then you would not have learned a piece of news."
"News?"
"Yes. I have made up my mind not to go home till February."
"What changed your plans so suddenly?" I asked.
"My conscience."
"In heaven's name, what has your conscience to do with your plans?"