"Oh,—I thought we had gone all over that," he retorted.
"Yes, I know. I haven't said I won't," she went on. "But I want just one day—or rather, one night more to think this over—I wonder what my father would do in my case."
"Your father was a good politician," answered Vickery confidently. "He would have known at once what to do."
"I believe he would," answered Gertrude in her most inscrutable manner. "Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take tonight—only just tonight, to settle this with my conscience—and I will see you in the morning—early, if you say so."
"I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that," answered Vickery, tucking the little memorandum book safely away in an inner pocket. "But I would like your promise now."
"Oh,—Mr. Vickery, tomorrow morning, please." She smiled and held out her hand. He took it and bade her good afternoon. He was not quite sure, when he went down stairs this time whether he ought to congratulate himself or not.
"These women," he said to himself, as he sought the aldermen's room, "are not to be depended on. You think you have 'em one minute, but when you go to put your finger on 'em, they are not there."
But upstairs, Gertrude was telephoning for the district attorney.