Some time later Douglas backed the car a yard or two, then turned it toward Washington, but their return trip was made with due attention to the speed law.
“Will you please tell me—Douglas”—she hesitated adorably over his name—“Indeed, you must not kiss me again”—drawing back as far as the seat would permit. “Why did you avoid me in Paris?”
A shadow passed over Douglas’ radiant face, and was gone before Eleanor observed it.
“I suppose you would call it false pride,” he said. “I had no money—you had much—and so I worshiped from a distance. Now that my inheritance has made me well-to-do, I felt that I had a right to ask you to marry me. In Paris I thought you would take me for a fortune hunter.”
“Which only goes to show what fools men are,” exclaimed Eleanor roguishly. “Bend down nearer me”—she placed her mouth close to his ear. “You could have had me for the asking then, dear heart”—his left arm stole about her—“for I know a man when I see one.”
“Not a word, remember.”
“Madame has my promise.” Annette tucked the small roll of bills inside the bosom of her gown, as Mrs. Winthrop replaced her pocketbook in her leather handbag.
“Where is Miss Eleanor?”