The eyes of the girl met his, appealingly, defiantly.
“You’ll be sorry,” said the girl.
Winthrop laughed an eager, boyish laugh. When he spoke the tenseness in his voice had gone. His tone was confident, bantering.
“Then I will not come to see you,” he said.
Uncertain, puzzled, Vera looked at him in distress. She thought he was mocking her.
“No?” she questioned.
“I’ll come to see Vera, the medium,” he explained.
Vera frowned, and then, in happy embarrassment, smiled wistfully.
“Oh, well,” she stammered; “of course, if you’re coming to consult me professionally—my hours are from four to six.”
“I’ll be there,” cried the District Attorney.