He would have given something handsome to be out of this foolish predicament, which he knew must be very trying to his companion. But the fates were against him. To his horror, the man struck a match and mounting the steps to the porch flashed it directly into his face.
"Good evening," said Blake, with rather a weak attempt at assurance.
"What are you doing here?" the guard demanded. "Don't you know that this house is quarantined?"
"I do. Kindly lower your voice; there are people asleep."
The fellow's eyes took in the girl in her stiffly starched uniform before the match burned out and darkness engulfed them once more.
"I'm not a burglar."
"Humph! I don't know whether you are or not."
"I assure you," urged Vittoria.
"Strike another match and I'll prove to you that I'm not dangerous."
When the light flared up once more Norvin selected a card from his case
and handed it to the watchman. "I am Norvin Blake, president of the
Cotton Exchange."
But this information failed of the desired effect.