“I can't wait any longer,” she pouted. “Please tell Mr. Kent that I am sorry not to have seen him.”
“I will, madam.” Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of Kent's desk and flew to open the door for Mrs. Brewster.
As the widow stepped into the corridor she brushed by an over-dressed woman, whose cheap finery gave clear indication of her tastes. Hardly noticing another's presence she turned and took McIntyre's arm and they strolled off together, her soft laugh floating back to where Mrs. Sylvester stood talking to her husband.
CHAPTER XIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
Harry Kent rang the doorbell at the McIntyre residence for the fifth time, and wondered what had become of the faithful Grimes; the butler was usually the soul of promptness, and to keep a caller waiting on the doorstep would, in his category, rank as the height of impropriety. As Kent again raised his hand toward the bell, the door swung open suddenly and Barbara beckoned to him to come inside.
“The bell is out of order,” she explained. “I saw you from the window. Hurry, and Grimes won't know that you are here,” and she darted ahead of him into the reception room. Kent followed more slowly; he was hurt that she had had no other greeting for him.
“Babs, aren't you glad to see me?” he asked wistfully.
For an instant her eyes were lighted by her old sunny smile.
“You know I am,” she whispered softly. As his arms closed around her and their lips met in a tender kiss she added fervently, “Oh, Harry, why didn't you make me marry you in the happy bygone days?”