He followed her hesitatingly into the parlor and sat down, his eyes fixed upon the portières over the front windows, which still appeared to be strangely agitated.
"You—do you think it will be worth while—my waiting?" he asked helplessly, as Cecilia was modestly about to withdraw.
She looked up at him with the bland look of intelligence which it takes a clever child to counterfeit.
"Worth while waiting for Kate?" she asked in accents half puzzled, half reproachful.
Old Westlake blushed to the roots of his close-cropped fair hair. He fancied he heard a muffled gurgle behind the portières that wasn't soothing.
"Oh—you mean, is she likely to come home soon?" added Sissy, gravely, eying his discomfiture. "I really do not know."
"Is Miss Madigan in?" asked the desperate man.
"Why, do you call her that? I told you she was out."
"No; you told me Katherine was out. Is she in?" he asked eagerly.
Sissy stared at him stupidly. He returned her stare contemplatively. He yearned to bribe her, but he didn't dare. She looked too old to be bought, too young to understand; yet he was sure she was neither.