“Oh, I am not finding any fault, you little spitfire. I like you all the better because you fight. But the trouble was, Christie, you simply jumped on me without even asking how it occurred. You took it for granted I was late on purpose to spite you.”
“Well, weren't you?” and the girl glanced inquiringly up into his face, as they passed out of the alley into the light of the Trocadero's windows. “You certainly acted that way.”
“No, I did not; but you wouldn't listen, and besides I had no time then to explain. There's a lot happened this afternoon I want to tell you about. Will you give me time to talk with you?”
“Why, of course,” surprised at the question, yet full of eagerness. “Why should you ask that?”
“Because I want you alone where no one can overhear a syllable. I'm afraid of that damned hotel. You never know who is in the next room, and the slightest whisper travels from one end to the other. That is one way in which Keith got onto our deal—he had a room next to Willoughby and Scott, and overheard them talking. I'm not going to take any more chances. Will you go to 'Sheeny Joe's' with me?”
She drew back from him.
“'Sheeny Joe's'? You mean the saloon near the depot?”
“Sure; what's the use of being so squeamish? You sing and dance to a saloon crowd, don't you? Oh, I know you're a good girl, Christie, and all that. I'm not ranking you with these fly-by-nights around here. But there's no reason that I can see why you should shy so at a saloon. Besides, you won't see any one. Joe has got some back rooms where we can be alone, and have a bite to eat while we're talking. What do you say?”
“Oh, I would rather not,” Hope faltered, bewildered by this unexpected request, already half-tempted to break away and run. “Really I—I don't want to go there.”
Hawley was evidently surprised at this refusal, naturally supposing from her life that Miss Maclaire's scruples would be easily overcome. This obstinacy of the girl aroused his anger.