There was no help for it. He heard the rustle of the silk lining of her cloak and she was at the door.
She shook Overman’s hand heartily, her violet eyes smiling in such a friendly candid way he was at once put at ease.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said, earnestly. “I’ve heard Frank speak of you so often and laugh over your college ups and downs. I feel I’ve known you all my life. And then he says you’re such a woman-hater—”
“He’s a grand liar, Mrs. Gordon,” he interrupted, suddenly colouring. “I never said anything of the kind in my life. I’m a great admirer of the fair sex!”
“Then you must prove it by coming to dinner with us to-night and admiring me the whole evening.”
“Nothing could give me greater pleasure,” he answered, bowing his big neck with an ease and grace Gordon noted with amazement.
When they left, Overman walked to the window and watched them thread their way through the crowd.
“Holy Moses and the angels—what a woman!” he said, softly whistling. “By the beard of the prophet, no wonder!”
Long after they disappeared he stood, looking without seeing, as if in a dream.