He bowed, conscious that he was being narrowly scrutinized, nicely weighed in the scales of a judgment prejudiced, if at all, not in his favor.
"I am Mrs. Secretan, a friend of Miss Law's. She has asked me to say that she begs to be excused, at least for to-night. She has suffered a severe shock and is able to see nobody."
"I understand—and I'm sorry," said Whitaker, swallowing his chagrin.
"And I am further instructed to ask if you will be good enough to leave your address."
"Certainly: I'm stopping at the Ritz-Carlton; but"—he demurred—"I should like to leave a note, if I may—?"
Mrs. Secretan nodded an assent. "You will find materials in the desk there," she added, indicating an escritoire.
Thanking her, Whitaker sat down, and, after some hesitation, wrote a few lines:
"Please don't think I mean to cause you the slightest inconvenience or distress. I shall be glad to further your wishes in any way you may care to designate. Please believe in my sincere regret...."
Signing and folding this, he rose and delivered it to Mrs. Secretan.
"Thank you," he said with a ceremonious bow.