“I was instructed to wait,” he explained, and took a chair just inside the parlor.
First stopping to pull down her window shades Marian hurried to her desk, and, taking the pages from the envelope, she proceeded to decode the messages written thereon. She had almost completed the task when, on starting a fresh page, her fountain pen commenced to leak and sent a stream of ink across her writing. With an impatient exclamation she picked up a fresh piece of blotting paper and checked the flow of ink, then continued the decoding. When her work was completed she gathered up the dispatches and the original messages and, placing them in a large envelope, carefully sealed the package with red wax and a ring bearing her crest.
The messenger, who had alternately read the evening paper and several magazines to occupy his time, rose with alacrity at her approach. Taking the envelope he buttoned it securely in an inner pocket of his coat.
“Rush work to-night,” he said. “They sent me here in a taxi-cab so that if I didn’t find you in I could locate you elsewhere.”
“Why didn’t you telephone beforehand?”
“Central reported your ’phone out of order,” he smiled. “Ain’t it fierce? Good-night,” and opening the door he stepped outside and almost on top of Dan Maynard whose hand, outstretched to ring the bell, struck him sharply on the chest. With a muttered word of apology the messenger hastened toward the elevator and left Marian and Maynard facing each other.
“May I come in?” he asked. His voice was very winning and there was a certain wistful appeal in his eyes as they met hers which possibly accounted for the sudden color in her cheeks. She stood in doubt for a brief second, then stepped back to admit him.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” he commenced, laying his hat down on the desk and turning to face her as she stopped in the middle of the parlor. “I have a message from René La Montagne. It is rather long——” He glanced about and then back at her.
“Then suppose we sit down.” Marian was regaining her old poise. Moving over to the sofa she ensconced herself on one end of it as Maynard pulled forward a chair. “You look”—staring at him steadily—“a trifle weary.”
“I am.” Maynard pushed back his short hair from his temples. “These are strenuous days;” his manner grew more earnest as he bent forward. “Now for my message; René desires to know if you will accompany Evelyn to Rockville, Maryland, next Tuesday.” She looked at him inquiringly and he added, “René plans to marry Evelyn there.”