Later, Mathison could not have told whether she wore green or blue or red. No normal man would have paid any attention to her gown—with her face, her eyes, her lips to watch.
Their orders scandalized the waiter. Miss Farrington ordered two apples and Mathison a bowl of bread and milk. They laughed.
"That's all I ever eat at night—fruit."
"And I didn't come here to eat," he said.
About this time the blond man, occupied by a single idea, entered the restaurant lobby, gave his hat and coat to the check-boy, then walked out to the curb and approached the footman.
"Dismiss Miss Farrington's limousine. She will go home with us."
"Yes, sir." The footman went down to execute the order.
The blond man waited until he saw the gray limousine maneuver out of the line and swing into the street; then he returned for his hat and coat. The Farrington was nothing to him. He had never heard of her until to-night. Ordinarily he might have been curious enough to have had her pointed out. To-night such curiosity might dissipate his cleverly conceived plans. Perhaps Mathison had not seen him actually. Anyhow, he did not intend to risk the future to satisfy a curiosity which was only negligible. If he had looked into that dining-room, it is quite possible this tale would have had a different ending. As matters stood, he had reason to be grateful to the actress. She had opened a way for him. A man with a pretty woman in his charge would not be particularly keen mentally.
"Did you like the play?"