Presently another taxi rapidly turned the corner and came to a pause just behind them. Out of this the elder Morton stepped.
“Wait here for a moment, please,” Mary said to Clifford. She stepped out upon the brilliant sidewalk—and Clifford looked on, wondering.
“Oh, Miss Gilmore!” cried Morton, swiftly coming to her with an eager, expectant smile. “You were an angel to call me up—after not letting me see you for so long! Though,” he quickly added in soft complaint, “it wasn’t very kind of you to run away from me as you did.”
“You advised me to leave the Grantham,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but I didn’t advise you to go leaving me in ignorance of your whereabouts,” he returned in an amiably hurt tone. “And that—ah—little present: was it kind to return it, without a word, the way you did?”
“You mean that ten thousand dollars? I did not need the money.”
“No?” He smiled. “I thought a woman always needed money.—Well, my dear, now that I’ve found you again I hope there’ll never be another such dreary hiatus in our friendship. You’re looking—but I’m no poet! And at last I’m to have my answer?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Good! I’ve had that yacht put in commission. Everything is waiting. When’ll you be ready to go?”
“I’m not going,” said Mary.