"Wait here a minute—you had better pull down the windows and lock up. I'll close the office and you can meet me on the landing."
She went out, closing the door, and ran down to the office, where Charles Holton stood at the window looking out upon Main Street, where the electric lamps were just sputtering into light.
"Ah," he cried turning toward her with a bow, "I'd begun to think you had forgotten my unworthy presence on earth!"
"Not at all, Mr. Holton. I'm sorry, but my father is too much engaged to see you to-day. If you really want to see him you can come in to-morrow."
This was not what he had expected. Dismissal was in her tone rather more than in her words. Their eyes met for a moment in the dim dusk and he would have prolonged the contact; but she walked to the desk and stood there, looking down at the copy of "Elia" which lay as she had left it when he had interrupted her reading. She refused to be conscious of his disappointment or to make amends for having caused him to wait needlessly. He turned at the door.
"I hope I haven't put you to any inconvenience?" he remarked, but without resentment.
"Not at all, Mr. Holton. Good-afternoon!"
"Good-day, Miss Kirkwood."
She listened until his step died away down the stair and then went out and whistled for her father.