Allison suddenly threw down her fan and shrugged her shapely shoulders.
“Ugh!” she said, shivering slightly. “I don’t need that any more—I always get a chill whenever that man comes near me.”
Gerald smiled, yet he looked somewhat disconcerted, for, of late, he had been conscious of a growing barrier between himself and this strangely clever man, who was an expert accountant, a talented lawyer, a director of the bank, and one at whose touch everything seemed to turn into gold.
“But Mr. Hubbard is very valuable to Mr. Brewster and the bank,” he said, in reply to Allison’s remark; “he inspects all accounts, manages all law business, and has recently been made one of the directors of the bank.”
“Is that so?” queried the young girl, with some surprise.
“Yes; he owns quite a good deal of stock.”
But Allison Brewster was not much interested to know who owned stock in the bank; business had little attraction for her beyond its results, which, of course, were a necessary factor in her life, while John Hubbard and his affairs were of no moment whatever to her.
“Gerald!” she exclaimed, after a moment, and abruptly changing the subject, “I almost forgot a part of my errand here. Papa is going to let me give a lawn-party before we go to Newport—and I am going to send out my invitations for two weeks from to-day—I set it for Saturday because you are at liberty so much earlier on that day. Will you come?”
Gerald’s eyes glowed, and the color mounted to his temples at this evidence of her thought for him. His voice thrilled with repressed emotion as he replied: