Reluctantly Moira gave him the number. She was not at all prejudiced against this carroty stranger—in fact, she had a vague suspicion that he was a sure cure for the blues, an ailment which she suffered from all too frequently; and, moreover, his voice, his respectful manner, his alert eyes, and his wonderful clothing were all rather alluring. Womanlike, she was flattered at being noticed—particularly by a man like Ogilvy, whom it was plain to be seen was vastly superior to any male even in Sequoia, with the sole exception of Bryce Cardigan. The flutter of a great adventure was in Moira's heart, and the flush of a thousand roses in her cheeks when, Buck Ogilvy having at length departed, she went into Bryce's private office to get his opinion as to the propriety of accepting the invitation.
Bryce listened to her gravely as with all the sweet innocence of her years and unworldliness she laid the Ogilvy proposition before him.
“By all means, accept,” he counselled her. “Buck Ogilvy is one of the finest gentlemen you'll ever meet. I'll stake my reputation on him. You'll find him vastly amusing, Moira. He'd make Niobe forget her troubles, and he DOES know how to order a dinner.”
“Don't you think I ought to have a chaperon?”
“Well, it isn't necessary, although it's good form in a small town like Sequoia, where everybody knows everybody else.”
“I thought so,” Moira murmured thoughtfully. “I'll ask Miss Sumner to come with us. Mr. Ogilvy won't mind the extra expense, I'm sure.”
“He'll be delighted,” Bryce assured her maliciously. “Ask Miss Sumner, by all means.”
When Moira had left him, Bryce sighed. “Gosh!” he murmured. “I wish I could go, too.”
He was roused from his bitter introspections presently by the ringing of the telephone. To his amazement Shirley Sumner was calling him!
“You're a wee bit surprised, aren't you, Mr. Cardigan?” she said teasingly.