He followed her inside, and greeted her mother, who immediately left them alone.
“Now,” Verbeck said, bending toward her, “tell me what is troubling you. I can see that there is something.”
“Really it is nothing, Roger. Perhaps I am a bit out of sorts. And—what I said about the ball—forget that, please.”
“But if you do not wish to go——” he said.
“Can’t we decide it to-morrow afternoon, dear? All right—let us leave it until then. Perhaps I’ll be feeling better.”
“And there is no trouble—nothing I can do to help?” he persisted.
“Foolish boy! I’m just—just tired.”
“Then I’m going to run right away and let you rest. I ought to be downtown, anyway. I’ll telephone the garage for my car.”
He went to the telephone and sent in his call, then returned to sit beside her. She was trying hard to smile and act naturally, but Verbeck knew something was troubling her. But he imagined it might be something connected with the family finance, and so did not press her for an answer.
The car came from the garage, and Verbeck left, and drove through the streets in a way that defied all traffic ordinances. He had failed to identify the crook who had received orders to speak with Miss Freda Brakeland. And something was troubling his fiancée, and Faustina had refused to confide in him. It had been an unprofitable afternoon.