When the collectors reached the Fabian house, Jack seemed loath to go on, so Mrs. Fabian invited him in to have a bite with them at an informal dinner.
It had been plainly evident for some time, that the only interest Jack Baxter had taken in furnishing his apartment, or in going about to hunt out old antiques, was because it gave him plenty of opportunities to be with Polly. And as is often the case, when one is completely absorbed in a pursuit, Polly was the last one to suspect the truth of this.
But he forgot discretion that evening, at dinner, and permitted too much of his attention to be directed Polly’s way. Even this might have been overlooked had not an interruption occurred while at the table.
The telephone bell was heard, and shortly afterward, the maid came around to Polly’s side and said:
“A Mr. Latimer on the wire, Miss Polly.”
Eleanor was all interest at once: “Can it be Jim, or Tom, I wonder?”
Polly was excusing herself at the moment, but turned to add: “You know very well that Tom has his hands full at the mines.”
Eleanor flushed, for she had almost given away a secret that Paul had told her in his last letter. Thus far she had kept quiet about the confidence.
Polly ran from the room, and Jack Baxter scowled at his plate. Mr. Fabian smiled at his face and tried to engage him in conversation. But Polly’s continued absence annoyed the youth, so that he lost his appetite, and, in fact, all interest in any subject started.
Polly skipped back after a time, her face wreathed in smiles. “You will never guess who I was talking to?”