"No," said the woman, "but he knows me well."
"He's very busy this morning," interrupted the secretary. "He's been away for three weeks and there are a lot of things for him to attend to. I don't know if he'll have time to see anybody," and she cast a belligerent look toward the newspaper and the legs over in the gloomy alcove.
"Don't worry," said the dominant voice of Mrs. Dunlap pleasantly, "I shall not keep him a second. I merely want him to endorse a check for me. I'm a personal friend. I'll just wait till he comes."
The secretary looked as if she thought that was a doubtful statement, but she assented silently and went on typing.
Whitney wondered what there was about that voice that reminded him of something recent? He lowered his paper and shot a glance at the woman and then he saw there was another with her, a quiet, shrinking woman with gray hair, and a sweet profile that he had known all his life. And the other one was the woman that had been calling on Mrs. Sheldon when he went to see Marguerite!
Well, at least he would not have to search for them. They were here. Now, what should he do? Reveal himself to them at once and try to make some plan? But no—there were more footsteps coming that way, and the clang of the elevator continually now. It would not do to be caught saying good morning to them if Marguerite should walk in. And besides—just what should he say how explain his presence there? Should he confess that he had read a letter that was not intended for his eyes? Strange he had not remembered to think that all out and have some plan. He had had all night to plan it and he had not done it.
The two women had stood hesitating a moment by the desk, but Mrs. Dunlap went into action as Whitney stole a glance over his paper.
"Let's sit over here by the window," she said in a tone as if she were quite at home.
She went to the corner she had indicated and whirled the chairs about so that they would face away from the room, and put their occupants with their backs toward anyone entering. But Mrs. Sheldon did not follow immediately. She lingered hesitantly by the desk an instant longer, a worried wistful look in her sweet eyes.
"My—daughter—hasn't come in yet, has she?" she hazarded. "She was to—that is, she was expecting—I mean we expected to meet her here."