“Oh!” Mrs. Davis looked taken aback. “She really needs rest and recreation, Mr. Latimer. Remember, she has just started on her vacation.”
Latimer thought a moment. “She might come to me for a few weeks, just over this month, then go on another vacation, or rather, continue this one, with pay.”
“I will write that to Polly.” She shook his hand warmly. “I appreciate your kindness and I am confident that Polly will come to you if she is physically able.”
“Then I am fortunate,” laughed Latimer. Mrs. Davis’s smile was infectious.
“Just a moment.” Mrs. Davis detained him as he was about to run down the steps. Her pretty coaxing manner reminded him of Polly—mother and daughter were much alike in appearance; only to Latimer’s fastidious taste, Mrs. Davis was the more attractive. There was a certain aggressiveness about Polly, in spite of her good looks, which always repelled him. “Please treat what I said just now about John Hale as strictly confidential.”
“Certainly, madam,” and Latimer returned the pressure of her hand, then he continued down the steps, her parting hail ringing in his ears:
“Remember, not a word!”
When Latimer rounded the corner into Pennsylvania Avenue where John Hale had agreed to wait for him, his face was grave. He said nothing as he climbed into the car and dropped down beside his friend, but as the car continued up the avenue, he broke his silence.
“I failed,” he admitted honestly, and a groan of disappointment broke from John Hale. “Don’t worry, I’ll get Polly’s address to-morrow. Mrs. Davis thinks I called to engage Polly as my secretary.”
Had either Latimer or John Hale turned his head and looked backward he could not have failed to see a woman standing under a tree at the corner of John Marshall Place. Their car was lost in the traffic before Mrs. Davis, recovering from a feeling of breathlessness produced by the unusual exertion of running, turned slowly homeward.