"I don't know as I want to sell coffee and potatoes all my life," I said at last, and my voice sounded colder than I meant to make it.
"Oh!" she gave a little gasp, as if some one had struck her. "You're very ambitious, Mr. Harrington," she said coldly. "I hope you'll get all you think you deserve, I am sure."
"Well, that wouldn't be much—only I am going to try for more than I deserve—see?" I laughed as easily as I could.
We talked a little longer, and then she made some kind of excuse—we had planned to go out that evening—and left me, bidding me good night as if I were a stranger. I felt small and mean, yet glad, too, to speak the truth—that I hadn't made a false step just there and pretended to more than I could carry through.
Some time later Slocum looked in at the door, and, seeing me alone, came into the room. He had a grim kind of smile on his face, as if he suspected what had been happening.
"Where's Grace?" I asked him.
"Just about where your Hillary is," he answered dryly; "gone off with another fellow."
I laughed. We looked at each other for some time.
"Well?" I said.
"He travels fastest who travels alone," he drawled, using the very words that had been in my mind. "But it is a shame—Miss Cox is a nice woman."