Marjorie steeled herself against the tender solicitude in his voice and gesture. What use to tell him of the scene in his father’s library? He also would take Janet’s word against hers. He would believe her a thief. In the silent watches of the past anxious nights, she had awakened to the realization that she had come to love Duncan with an adoration which passes understanding. It was her precious secret; he must never guess it. Her past affection for Chichester Barnard had been the shadow instead of the substance. Her endurance was almost at the breaking point; she could not face the loss of Duncan’s friendship, at least not then; nor see admiration change to contempt, and liking sink to loathing. With a muttered prayer for strength, she raised her eyes to Duncan’s.
“If you must know the truth,” she said, “I’m suffering from a toothache—not a bit romantic, is it?”
“Perhaps not,” sympathetically. “But I know from experience there’s no pain like it. If you are on your way to the dentist, can’t I take you there?”
“He couldn’t see me until four o’clock this afternoon,” lying with trembling lips. “I am going to Aunt Yvonett’s to rest quietly until then.”
“Let me drive you there,” pointing persuasively toward his roadster. Marjorie could think of no adequate excuse; after all it would be the quickest and easiest way to reach the shelter of her aunt’s house.
“If it isn’t taking you out of your way——?”
“Of course it isn’t,” heartily. “Mind that step,” and in a second more he was seated beside her, and the powerful car moved off down Massachusetts Avenue. “How do you like my new model?” patting the side of the motor. “I had an old one in San Francisco.”
“The car moves very smoothly,” with well simulated interest. “Is she speedy?”
“Is she? You should have seen me trying her out on the Conduit Road this morning; I brought Janet home in record time.”
“Worse luck,” she groaned, below her breath.