“Why,” said Barry, “I thought of going down-town for a little while before luncheon. I want to slip into the office and look at something.”
“Oh, Barry! And it’s such a beautiful day!”
Miss Chichester looked up at him pleadingly.
“I know, but this is really a matter I ought to attend to.”
“You can go down early to-morrow morning and attend to it. I shall be so disappointed if you don’t walk up with me. And stop and have luncheon with us. Do! Father is so fond of discussing politics with you.”
“Thank you, Jane. But it’s out of the question for me to stop to luncheon. It really is.”
“Then walk up with me, anyway.”
“All right! I’ll do that.”
Mrs. Tracy was already moving homeward in her luxuriously appointed car, and Ruth and her lover had started slowly up the walk. His eyes were alight and his cheeks aglow with pleasant anticipation. To walk a mile with Ruth Tracy through the invigorating air of a beautiful September noonday was a privilege that any man might covet, much more a man in whose heart she filled so large and so queenly a place as she did in Philip Westgate’s.