“I think so; here we are,” and she led the way inside the book-store. It did not take her long to complete her errand, and she found Barnard waiting for her at the entrance, a magazine tucked under his arm.
“All ready?” he inquired, holding open the door for her. “Are you going to do any more shopping?”
“No.”
“Then take a walk with me?” eagerly. “We don’t have to be at the Fordyce’s until one o’clock.”
“I told Aunt Yvonett I would run in for a few minutes on my way uptown....”
“You can go there after lunch,” broke in Barnard. “Besides, there’s a business matter I must talk over with you.”
A premonition of bad news sent a faint shiver down Marjorie’s spine, and she glanced almost pleadingly at her companion.
“What——?” she began, then stopped. “Where shall we go?”
“Suppose we walk around the White Lot,” he suggested, after a moment’s thought. “We’re not likely to be interrupted there,” turning to bow to some friends.
“Very well,” agreed Marjorie briefly, quickening her pace, and talking of indifferent subjects they made their way up busy F Street, across Fifteenth, back of the Treasury, and round to the Ellipse. Barnard pointed to one of the empty benches which stood on the outer edge of the huge circle of well-kept turf, and Marjorie followed him to it.