“I should rather you did not.”
“Well, good Heavens! Something has happened to spoil your nerve.”
“No.”
“Then what—”
“Come for me after the match. We can talk then.” With this Jeremy had to be content. Relieved of his presence, M. Ames summoned all her force to the rescue of her nerves, and astonished her opponent with a forty-four, steadily and carefully played. The match, which had originally been counted upon by a careful captain as a probable win for Old Central, was a tie, under the scoring system agreed upon.
Dismal misgivings, meanwhile, had beset Jeremy Robson, the promising young reporter of The Record. Already he was, in his heart, on the defensive when, as he and Marcia turned out at the gate, she said:
“Did you write the article about Eli Wade?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it must have been yours,” said her lips. The tone said, “I hoped it was not.”
“That’s a good sign, for people to recognize my style. What did you think of it?”