“Oh! Have you a car?” exclaimed Julie.
“It belongs to Tom Dillon; he wants me to keep his chauffeur busy.” She was herself again, saucy, reckless, unthinking.
Martin bent over her, speaking in low tones.
“I’ll go home with you; we’ll make up on the way.”
She knew what he meant—she’d show him—he couldn’t love her for the moment.
“I don’t want you; a man’s escort is not a guarantee of safety.”
She kissed Julie and swept out, followed by Floyd. He stood at the door of the car; there was something wrong with Maud. He thought he saw tears in her eyes. He jumped into the car and went home with her. Julie was at the window as they drove off.
“Oh! Floyd’s gone with her. He’s so old-fashioned; he hates to see women roaming about alone at night; he won’t be long.”
She pulled down the blinds, put out the lights, leaving only the candles and the glow of the fire.
Martin stood watching her. She began to feel uncomfortable. Why didn’t he say something? She was afraid of his silence.