“Very good, sir,” and Henderson retired.
Barnard was about at the end of his patience when Janet entered the room.
“I am sorry to be late,” she apologized hurriedly. “Duncan’s new motor-car just came this morning, and he asked me to go for a run in it. I expected to be back before you got here,” tossing off her furs and coat as she spoke.
“Let me help you,” and with quick, deft fingers Barnard assisted her to remove her heavy veil. “What a becoming hat!”
“Do you think so?” dimpling with pleasure. “Marjorie selected it; she has awfully good taste. Has she been here?” in some anxiety.
“I came to see you, lady bird, and not to talk about another girl,” Barnard glanced hastily about the room. “Come over and sit in that bow window, and nobody will disturb us.”
“Very well,” and crossing the room, Janet settled herself in an arm-chair. She was sick of fighting against the inevitable, and such Chichester Barnard now appeared to her. Try as she did, she could not avoid him. His omnipresence tormented her. She had gone out with Duncan purposely, hoping to miss his visit. On learning that he was awaiting her return, she had sent in hot haste for Marjorie only to be told that her chaperon had stepped out on an errand for her mother. She had stood outside the drawing-room portières for fully three minutes before finding courage to enter. If only Barnard would not make love to her!
“Aren’t you a wee bit sleepy after last night?” she asked as he joined her in the bow window.
“The prospect of seeing you this morning has kept me wide awake,” tenderly. “You treated me shamefully at the ball, giving so many dances to other men.”
“You deserted me at supper,” in quick defence. “We only stayed a little longer after that; Marjorie developed one of her headaches—my goodness”—catching sight of a limousine turning into the driveway leading to their porte-cochère. “Who’s calling here at this hour?”