“Oh, I’ll explain it to Fanny. She and I are great pals,” he said lightly.
“I couldn’t deceive your sister. If she should learn that you had walked to her house with me without telling her, she wouldn’t like it and if she knew she wouldn’t like it; so you can’t know me—you mustn’t know me! Nothing could be clearer than that.”
“I certainly can’t know you this way; that’s as plain as daylight.”
“There’s no way of knowing me at all! You must understand that now—once and for all. I’m very busy and have my work to do.”
“Well, we’ll put it up to Fanny.”
And so, the girl still reluctant, they entered the house, where Mrs. Blair darted out from the library with many exclamations. She seemed, on the surface, to take the appearance of her callers as a matter of course, but she waved him into the library with an air of brushing him out of existence.
While he waited he scrutinized the new books with a view to determining in just what field of thought his sister now disported. Miss Morley’s errand with Mrs. Blair was of the briefest and as they concluded their conference in the hall he appeared before them promptly. His sister’s glance did not encourage his hope to carry off the situation lightly; but he could not do less then accept full responsibility for the visit and he resolved to put a bold face upon it. Mrs. Blair had just rung for her motor, and she sent the maid upstairs for her wraps with the obvious intention of making it unnecessary for Wayne to accompany the girl further.
“Fanny,” he began, “Miss Morley and I have become acquainted in the most astonishing fashion. We met at Paddock’s parish house not long ago by the merest chance; this afternoon, while at the concert, estimating the deficit for the day, I ran into her again; and I begged Miss Morley’s consent to walk up here with her; and here I am.”
“It really was unnecessary,” murmured the girl.
“I think you ought to tell Miss Morley to give me just a little of her time, Fanny—just a little. Of course she is busy; but then——”