“I do,” replied Larry, and he fancied there was just a note of jealousy in his companion’s voice. “I met her quite often some time ago, and she was very kind to me, though I was only a reporter, and she a millionaire’s daughter.”
“That’s what the girls in the store say of her,” spoke Miss Mason. “You’d never know she had all the money she wanted to spend, to judge by her manner. Some of the very rich people make it hard for working girls,” she went on. “They seem to think we have no feelings. But Miss Potter is very different. I wish there were more like her.”
“Did you notice who was with her?” asked Larry.
“Not particularly. I saw that it was a young man, not bad-looking. He was—why, of course!” suddenly exclaimed Miss Mason. “I know now what you mean! I was wondering why his face was so familiar. He was the one who jostled me in the subway train that day; wasn’t he?” and she leaned eagerly toward Larry.
“The very same,” he answered quietly.
“I wonder what he was doing with Miss Potter,” went on Larry’s companion. “I can’t say much about his manners. But perhaps he acts differently toward millionaires’ daughters than he does toward working girls.”
“I don’t doubt it,” remarked our hero grimly. He, too, was wondering what had brought Miss Potter and Witherby together. And, though Larry tried not to let himself be conscious of it, he was aware of a distinct pang of jealousy.
“It must be because Mr. Potter banks at the Consolidated and Witherby works there,” reasoned Larry to himself. “Though how a bank clerk, on a comparatively small salary, can afford to go around with a millionaire’s daughter, is beyond me. But I guess it’s none of my business.”
“It’s queer we should meet that man again,” went on Miss Mason, referring to Witherby. “I have often looked for him in the subway, but I’ve never seen him since that morning.”
“I have met him several times,” spoke Larry. “He is employed in the Consolidated Bank.”