“I suppose not,” answered Kenyon, in a thoughtful way. “There is much more than personal feeling to be considered.”
“That is what we both think. Otherwise we would not have remained an instant after the night in—in Selden’s Square.”
By this time the last carriage had departed, and they heard the front door slam. Then the harsh voice of Farbush was heard.
“Now, then, come in here, Shallcross; I’ll go over that matter with you in detail.”
They heard footsteps in the hall below; and a door opened and shut.
“There, now!” exclaimed Anna. “You’ll not have a chance to say good-bye to him as you go. That is Mr. Shallcross, the ship-builder from Seattle. They will be deep in tonnages and such stupid things for the next hour.”
“At least,” said Kenyon, as he arose. “You can say good-night for me—in the morning. I’ll get my coat and other things”—as though about to pass her on the stairway.
“But the coat-room is below,” she informed him, hastily. And it also seemed to him that she instinctively barred his way.
“Oh, how stupid of me,” he exclaimed. “I fancied it was on this floor. That is why I was coming up in the first place.”
“Good-night,” she said, holding out her hand, with an eagerness that was a trifle feverish.