"You—you don't dare—now?"
"No . . . not now."
She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown eyes to his once more.
"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily.
"Mr. Keen will receive you—"
"He may be busy."
"He may be," she repeated dreamily.
"So—I'll ask for you."
"We could write you, Mr. Gatewood."
He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every morning."