“It will be quite all right, Mr. Morton.”
“To pay the check with,” Jack mumbled huskily, pushing a bank-note beside Clifford’s plate.
The next moment Clifford and Mary were alone. She gazed across at him very steadily, not speaking. Her breath came with a slight, fluttering irregularity, and her face had taken on a slight pallor; he could guess how much the stress of the last few minutes had taxed her. She glanced about the tables for a brief space, then her eyes came back to him.
“I’d like to go up to my apartment,” she said quietly.
Clifford paid the bill and escorted her out of the great, glittering room. Near the row of elevators she halted and faced him.
“What was in your mind a while ago when you started to tell Jack and me not to register here together?”
He tried to speak coldly. “Please overlook that. I forgot for the moment that I had promised you I would not again interfere in your affairs.”
“Please tell me what was in your mind,” she quietly insisted.
“First of all, I was surprised that you and Jack should return to New York—so soon.”
“Why?”