“That is what we all do these days,” broke in Maynard. He glanced at Palmer and at La Montagne; would Palmer make the first move to go, or was he waiting for him to do so? Evelyn’s presence complicated the situation; he did not wish to tell her that her step-father had been shot and narrowly escaped death; nor did he wish La Montagne to leave before he could question him as to his presence in the corridor outside Palmer’s open hall door just after the attempted assassination. He, himself, could not go without offering to see Evelyn home, and courtesy demanded that he wait for her to make the first move to leave. For all his self-control Maynard was conscious of a desire to throttle Palmer who, having captured the conversational ball, was keeping it rolling by talking every instant. Maynard wondered if Palmer had forgotten the errand which had brought them there in his absorption in Evelyn and his endeavor to monopolize her.
Maynard rested his elbow on a mahogany table by which he sat, but his elbow slipped on the polished surface and a shower of papers, dislodged by his sudden movement, slid to the floor. With a quick word of apology he stooped to pick them up, La Montagne lending his assistance.
“It is really my fault,” exclaimed Evelyn who had turned to see what the commotion was about. “I had no business to leave your papers there, Marian.”
“My papers!” echoed Marian. “What papers do you refer to, Evelyn?”
“Why those Captain La Montagne asked me to return to you.” Evelyn bit her lip; she had spoken hastily, forgetting that she had decided to tell no one of meeting La Montagne in Potomac Park that morning. Palmer would be very likely to tell her mother or worse, her step-father. Again Evelyn bit her lip in vexation.
“They are the papers I carried home for you and carelessly left them in my tunic, Madame,” explained La Montagne. “I, fearing I might not meet you so immediately, asked Miss Preston that she take them in charge. I trust my walk-away with the papers did not distress you, Madame Van Ness?”
Marian’s smile was very charming. “You have not inconvenienced me,” she said. “The papers were unimportant. Must you be going?” she added swiftly, seeing Palmer rise. The architect, surprised by the question, stared at her in some confusion; he had simply risen because he was too nervous to sit still longer. Maynard, mistaking Palmer’s confusion for hesitancy, rose also.
“We must be off,” he said. “Just dropped in for a friendly chat. Can’t I see you home, Evelyn?”
“Thanks, Mr. Maynard, but I am spending the night with Marian. Are you going also?” as La Montagne seeing the two men remained standing, rose to his feet. Before the Frenchman could answer her question, Maynard spoke for him.
“We are going to carry off René,” he laughed. “Don’t begrudge us the privilege of a talk about France, Evelyn; I have messages for La Montagne, Mrs. Van Ness.” His direct gaze held hers. “I hope very soon to be a neighbor of yours as Palmer tells me there is a vacant apartment in the building. Will you let me come and see you again?”