Edna Sartwell lingered for a moment on the outskirts of the throng that pressed around Barney and the little Earl, then leisurely made her way towards the door, waiting for her step-mother, who lingered to thank her host. The men who had stood along the wall were already in the street, and the other visitors had nearly all departed.
Marsten stood alone where he was when the entertainment was going on, gazing with beating heart at the girl he loved. She came slowly towards him, her head averted, watching her step-mother standing in the fast thinning group about Barney. There was a certain unconsciousness about her movements, as if the young man had hypnotized her, and was drawing her to him by mere force of will. At last her skirts touched him and his nerves tingled to his finger ends. Almost involuntarily, he murmured:
“Miss Sartwell.”
The girl turned her head quickly, and for a moment met his gaze without recognizing him.
“My name is Marsten,” he said huskily, seeing she did not know him. “I met you the other evening at your fathers office, when he and I were talking of the strike.”
“Oh, yes,” she replied; “at first I did not remember you. I—I did not expect to——” She paused and seemed confused, looking away from him.
“To find me here,” said the young man, completing the sentence for her, and gathering courage as the delightful fact that he was actually talking to her impressed its almost unbelievable reality upon him. “I did not know there was anything like this going on. I came to consult with Mr. Hope on the same subject——” He flushed as the memory of one subject arose in his mind, and he felt his newly acquired courage beginning to ebb again. He pulled himself together and ended lamely, “—about the strike, you know.”
“Oh,” said Edna, instantly interested. “Is there anything new about the strike?”
“Yes; there was a meeting last night, and it was unanimously resolved to quit work.”
The colour left the girl’s cheeks.