"I've got to go, Gloria," he said nervously. "Immediately. This is important."
"Why, of course," she agreed. "I can get a bite when I get home."
He thrust the telegram into his pocket and came around to the back of her chair. He was all impatience; it seemed he could not wait until hat and coats were gotten. On the way to the street he looked again at his watch.
"I've got to go out of town," he explained. "I'll be gone a couple of days."
"But this is only Wednesday!"
"And usually I don't go before Saturday?" He was tapping at his cigarette-case as they came to their taxi. "Yes. But something has happened."
He helped her in and lifted his foot to follow.
"Gloria," he muttered, "I can't make it. If I see you home I will miss the last boat across the bay."
She was more and more interested. She had never known Gratton to show emotion as he showed it to-night; she was more and more curious about that "business" which carried him out of town. Why hadn't he tossed the telegram across the table for her to read? Here was a shut door, and from being barred a door always invites the more temptingly. Especially to a girl like Gloria.
"Why, I can go home alone—"