"I happened to see him a minute ago, driving on Washington Street with your cousin—Miss Angela."
It was clear that the topic had lost no interest for Mary, at any rate. She stopped short in the middle of the floor, utterly taken aback.
"Donald!—as you came here?"
And, instantly recovering from mere astonishment, her capable gaze flew to the little watch on her wrist.
Charles reassured her, as dryly as possible: "However, they were headed toward the station, and going as fast as they could. I think he will make his train."
"But—it's not possible, I'm afraid! His train goes at five twenty-two—it's just that now!... Ah, how could he!"
Producing his own valued chronometer, the young man compared it with the educator's small trinket.
"I believe you're a little fast, aren't you? I'm five-eighteen. And it was just quarter past when I saw them, for I looked to see. That gave him seven minutes—"
"Yes—well!—but Angela's little car is so slow—"
"Oh!—it can go fast enough for practical purposes—I've observed. Besides, Donald may have telephoned and found that the train was late."