"Let me come with you," eagerly. "I'll bring my own work and not say a word to you. I'm nervous, Daddy, I—I don't want to be by myself tonight—and there's something I want to—to—" her voice broke.
Whitney glanced at Kathleen in surprise. What had come over her?
"Oh, come along," he agreed roughly. "Only remember, I won't be tormented with small talk."
Kathleen's eyes brightened with relief as she accompanied him into the hall. As they appeared the elevator door opened and Mrs. Whitney stepped out into the hall.
"Why, I thought you were lying down, Kathleen; you said that you were too tired to come in later to our club meeting and hear Senator Foster's address on 'Peace,'" she exclaimed, and not waiting for an answer, turned to Whitney. "Can you spare me a moment, Winslow? I wish your advice," and with a quick tilt of her head she indicated the small reception room on the left of the front door. "Come in here."
"Certainly, Minna. Don't wait for me, Kathleen," but the girl paused irresolutely.
"Shall I go to the studio?" she asked.
"No, you cannot get in; the door is locked. Go to your sitting-room and
I'll stop for you on the way to the studio."
"Honest Injun, Dad?" And her father, nodding vigorous assent, watched her go up the stairs, then with a brisk step entered the reception room.
"How charming you look, Minna!" he exclaimed, in honest admiration.