“Surely you are not well this morning!” he said, placing his hand lightly on her wrist.
His secretary was usually so self-possessed.
“Oh yes,” she said, with a start, “I am quite well—quite.”
She smiled at the very idea of her not being well, knowing what she did.
“Come and sit down beside me for a little while,” said “Cobbler” Horn, when their business was finished; “and let us have some talk.”
It was the ordinary invitation; but there was something unusual in the tone of his voice. As the young girl took her seat at the bedside, her previous agitation in some degree returned. “Cobbler” Horn’s fingers closed upon her hand, with a gentle pressure.
“My dear young lady, there is something that I wish to ask you.”
There was just the slightest tremor in his voice; and the young secretary was distinctly conscious of the beating of her heart.
“Yes, sir,” she said, faintly, trembling a little.
“Don’t be agitated,” he continued, for it was impossible to overlook the fact of her excitement. “It’s a very simple matter.”