“As far away as that?” She looked at him, sidelong.
“All around. I know that neighborhood like a book.”
“What's the name of that alley?”
“Alley? Er—what alley?”
“Mr. Cyrus Murphy, how long have you been following me about?”
He turned an unpicturesque, dull red. “Well, that's no place for a girl alone,” he growled.
“You know, one evening I thought I saw you, down near Avenue C, but I couldn't be sure. Was it?”
“It might have been,” he grudged. “Avenue C is a public thoroughfare.”
“And you've been guarding me,” she murmured.
Her eyes brooded on him, and the color was rising in her face to match his. But, while Cyrus blushed like a brick, the Bonnie Lassie blushed like the hue of flying clouds after sunset.