“Everything you claim—yes.”
“Then your presents, your photograph....”
“Meant nothing,” with smiling effrontery, “except pour passer le temps.”
In the stillness the click, click of a typewriter in the adjoining office was distinctly audible. Barnard, with an impatient frown at the wall dock, turned back to the silent woman. He abhorred a scene, and Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper had an engagement with him shortly; it would never do for him to find Kathryn Allen in that office. The pause lengthened, then the woman rose shakily to her feet, and meeting Barnard’s look of solicitude, a bitter laugh broke from her.
“You have shown me a new side,” she said, controlling herself with difficulty. “You are not usually neglectful of your own interests, Chichester; hadn’t you better cultivate your memory?” and before he could answer, she slipped from the room and was gone.
Reaching the sidewalk Kathryn walked aimlessly up F Street until her wandering attention was caught by a tall clock in front of a jeweler’s shop, whose hands registered three o’clock, and she paused instantly.
“Mercy,” she muttered. “I’ve forgotten Joe!” and turning about she made her way to Harvey’s restaurant. Joe Calhoun-Cooper, lurking in the doorway, watched her approach with eagerness.
“At last!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had forgotten to come.”
“Not a bit of it,” following him to the ladies’ dining-room. “Mrs. Wallace was not so well, and I was detained. Nurses can’t be choosers, you know.”
“Why don’t you give up this drudgery?” asked Joe heatedly. “Marry me, my darling——” sinking his voice.