He smiled, then bent lightly and kissed her joined hands.
"Luncheon is served," came the emotionless voice of Farris from the doorway. Their hands fell apart; Jacqueline blushed to her hair and gave Desboro a lovely, abashed look.
She need not have been disturbed. Farris had seen such things before.
That evening, Desboro went back to New York with her and took her to her own door in a taxicab.
"Are you quite sure you can't dine with me?" he asked again, as they lingered on her doorstep.
"I could—but——"
"But you won't!"
One of her hands lay lightly on the knob of the partly open door, and she stood so, resting and looking down the dark street toward the distant glare of electricity where Broadway crossed at right angles.