“I couldn’t, just couldn’t, believe it,” she admitted.
“You darling!” Tom’s hand sought hers. “Who dared to say I boasted of such a thing?”
“As long as you didn’t do it, the rest doesn’t matter,” declared Janet, with true feminine logic, and changed the subject abruptly. “Was it fun at the White House?”
“I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t wanted to be elsewhere,” admitted Tom truthfully. “An invitation to the White House is final—to an army or navy officer; I couldn’t decline it, no previous engagement plea goes. I hope you understand....”
“Oh, quite,” Janet was nervously playing with her fan. “But there have been other times when you might have co—when the White House wouldn’t have interfered with your coming to—to—see me.”
“Only your wish kept me away.”
“My wish?” Startled, Janet faced toward him.
“Certainly; how else was I to construe your silence?”
“My silence!” indignantly. “Did you want me to cry from the house-tops that I wished to see you?”
“Such an extreme measure was not necessary,” retorted Tom stiffly. “An answer to my message would have been sufficient.”