She looked away, and the color trembled in her cheeks.
“C-can’t you guess?” she faltered.
Nash had arrived at a solution a long time previous to this moment, but it seemed too good to be true. Now he knew it was true.
“Let’s go over to the Alexandria for lunch,” he suggested. “I can talk better there.”
And, once in that big, cosmopolitan hotel, and in a secluded corner of the grillroom, Elliot Nash amazed the stolid-faced waiter by his order. And what he said later to the girl who shared the feast was meant only for her ears.
THE END.
AN IMPORTANT EXCEPTION.
An old man who entered the meteorological office, the other day, said:
“This ’ere’s where you give out weather predictions, ain’t it?”
The clerk nodded.