Dorothy consulted her wrist watch. “Perhaps I had better; it is later than I thought. If I get through my work early we can stop at Brentano’s on the way home.”
“Let me go there for you,” suggested Wyndham. “What book do you wish?”
“No book, thanks; Vera wants me to order a hundred of her visiting-cards struck off.” As she spoke Dorothy opened her handbag and taking out her purse offered a Treasury bill to Wyndham. He waved it aside.
“Pay for the cards when they are finished,” he exclaimed.
“Please take it,” insisted Dorothy, closing her bag with a snap. “Vera objects to charge accounts.”
“If you wish me to.” Wyndham pocketed the money just as the limousine drew up at the curb, and throwing aside the lap-robe he jumped out and assisted Dorothy to the sidewalk before the chauffeur could leave his seat. “Are you coming with me to Brentano’s, Millicent?” he asked, seeing that his cousin made no move to leave the car.
Millicent contented herself with a nod of assent and Wyndham hastened after Dorothy who, not waiting, had already entered the office building. Wyndham’s voice brought her to a stand near the elevator shaft.
“Dorothy”—he lowered his voice and drew her to one side of the corridor where there was no danger of their conversation being overheard—“I implore you not to distrust me.”
“I don’t, Hugh.”
“Then why do you avoid me—why refuse to see me alone?” with suppressed vehemence. “Your behavior, Dorothy, hurts me cruelly.”