He plumped down on a bench across the square from 45A, and thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, stretched out his legs and scowled at the pavement. A "platonic friendship" had no charms for him then. "I'm a fool!" he said to himself. "Her brother!"—a bitter note of laughter escaped him, "when I'm out of my mind with wanting her! What a fool I was to stand for it! She's just playing the regular girl's game—no blame to her of course, it's their instinct to keep a man at arm's length as long as they can. It pleases them to have us on the grill. And I fell for it! I'm on my way to make a precious fool of myself. If I can't find out where she's going to-night, I'll be clean off my nut before morning. But I wouldn't ask her! And if she's going out with another man—! Lord! which is worse, to know or not to know?"
When he let himself in the door of 45A, Miss Sisson, according to her custom, poked her head out into the hall to see who it was. She came out.
"Oh, Mr. Weir," she said importantly, "where have you been?"
"Out," said Evan stiffly.
She was too much excited to perceive the snub. "There's been a man here for you half a dozen times I guess."
"What did he want?"
"I don't know. Says it's most important."
"Who was he?"
"Wouldn't give his name. Acted most mysterious."
"What sort of looking man?"