“No, I did not catch up with him,” answered Barclay lightly, and only Ethel’s look of agony stayed the rejoinder on Norcross’ lips.
CHAPTER XIII
THE QUARREL
Professor Norcross laid aside the late edition of the Times, and took, with a word of thanks, the three-cornered note handed him by Mrs. Ogden’s maid. But on closing the door of his bedroom he lost no time in unfolding the note paper, and read the words with eagerness.
Dear Professor:
I must have a word with you before the other guests arrive. I will be in the library at seven-thirty. Please be there.
In haste,
Ethel Ogden.
Norcross laid the note on his bureau and consulted his watch; then rushing to his closet dragged out his evening clothes, and commenced dressing with feverish haste.
But with all his speed the professor, twenty minutes later, paused on the landing of the staircase and an exclamation of pleased surprise escaped him. The florist had transformed the stately entrance hall and rooms beyond into fairyland. Tall, graceful palms, plants, and clusters of cut flowers filled every nook and cranny, while the system of indirect lighting suggested earlier in the day by Julian Barclay, added to the beauty of the scene. However beautiful the scene, it had only power to hold Professor Norcross for a moment, and he lost no further time in reaching the library. Ethel was there before him.
“It is good of you to come to me,” she exclaimed, impulsively extending her hand, and Norcross clasped it in both of his.