“He never must. No one in the firm. Should foul play or awkwardness reveal it, the firm name of Wyman & Vreeland would come down in a day. So, mark my every word. I will not return to New York till you are installed in your new apartments in the Elmleaf.
“It is well located, in the ‘thirties’—I have taken the best one on the top floor to aid you in the gay and showy life that I wish you to lead there.
“You will find your new man, Bagley, a veteran London valet, just brought over, waiting to report to you now at the Waldorf. He has never been in America before, and none of our opponents know him. I had Justine engage him through Low’s Exchange.
“The rooms are already decorated and arranged for you. They have been ready for a month, and no one can ever trace the ownership. The whole belongings are yours.”
Vreeland found a voice. He began his grateful praise.
She smiled faintly. “Nay! no thanks! It is purely a business matter. If you wish anything else, give a list to me. I will transmit it to the furnisher, who will at once provide. There will be no bills. I hope that the rooms will please you. Of course, I shall never see them.”
The young would-be bridegroom noted the cold dignity of her measured sentences. There was the thin icy rivulet still between them.
“Mark me now,” she said. “There is a working room, and a private secretary (a stenographer, typewriter, and telegraph operator) will attend daily, from nine until six. The telegraph and private telephone wire are connected with my rooms in the ‘Circassia.’ There is a duplicate ’phone joining you with ‘Central,’ for your social use.” Vreeland began to take his cue.
“From the café in the Elmleaf, you can have morning service, and be furnished such entertainment as you may wish to give. I presume that you dine at your clubs, or in society. The café accounts will all come to me.”
She paused, and studied Vreeland’s face closely.