“No, Doctor; I am Miss Maclaire.”
“Ought to have known it—if I knew as much about faces as I do about anatomy never would make such mistake—very sorry—what fooled me was seeing you with Keith—thought he was after the other one—gay dog though—never satisfied—was hunting after you.”
“After me?” evidently amused.
“Certainly—you—went to the room—then to the clerk—said you were in at supper—just occurred to me streets here bad at night—thought I'd ask you to let me escort you to theatre and back—a bit of lunch later—” he glanced suspiciously at Keith—“probably got here too late.”
“Well really you have, Doctor,” she replied sweetly, veiling her eyes to hide their laughter. “But I can assure you it is not Mr. Keith,” courtesying slightly to the latter, “for he has not honored me; we merely met by chance at the table. I am sure I should enjoy your company exceedingly, but to-night I must plead a previous engagement.”
“Ah—ah, some other night?”
“With pleasure, yes.”
The doctor faded away into the office, not wholly satisfied because Keith still lingered. Miss Christie extended her hand.
“Isn't he a funny man? But I do like him—someway I like so many people whom perhaps I ought not, including you, Mr. Jack Keith. Please think over what I told you about Mr. Hawley, won't you?”
“Certainly; you have given me food for thought. I presume he is to be your escort?”