Then, suddenly remembering that the same Hargrave had been the innocent cause of a little pain to him, she went quickly to the table and took up the offending play, and with that fine instinct of a woman to give even the smallest revenge to the man she loves, said:
"Take this. Give it to Hargrave yourself. Say I cannot see him."
"I shall see you tomorrow."
"No, no; but telephone tonight."
She listened a moment, her ear toward the hall like a child, and then sprang into his arms, and this time it seemed to him that it was she, not he, who dominated the embrace.
CHAPTER XXIII
At half-past five, Beecher, his brain in a whirl, arrived breathlessly at the office of McKenna. As luck would have it, only Gunther and the detective were there.
"My friend is a little late," said McKenna, with a quick, jerky glance at the clock.
"Where's Garraboy?"
"Twirling his thumbs in another room," said Gunther, laughing. "In a cussing bad humor, too."