“Good night,” said Harvey, but she lingered.
“Shall I see you to-morrow?”
“Do you think I had better come?”
“Why not?”
“Perhaps your father—”
“I want you to. Anyway,” smiling, “father is in Chicago.”
Harvey smiled too.
“I'll send the trap for you, and we'll drive—at ten, say. I suppose you are at the hotel.”
“Yes,” said Harvey. “Good night.”
Mr. Porter's summer home was located on the river bank, something less than a mile from the Truesdale Hotel. The walk was somewhat lonely, and it gave Harvey time to think. At first he was bewildered. She had seemed to be mistress of the situation, but at any rate he had told her nothing about M. & T. affairs. There came into his mind a suspicion that she knew more than she had led him to believe, for she would naturally not let a man who had no claim upon her sway her loyalty to her father. And yet, those eyes were honest. They had looked into his with an expression that would charm away graver doubts than his. “I'll make her tell me,” he thought. “I'll find out to-morrow just what she means, and if—” In spite of himself, Harvey's heart beat fast at thought of the possibilities which lay behind that “if.” From doubt, he drifted back into a review of the evening. He called up pictures of her on the brake, on the boat, or on the shaded path. When he reached the hotel he sat down on the veranda and lighted a cigar. “Yes,” he repeated to himself, “I'll make her tell me.” But in the morning, after a more or less steady sleep, Harvey looked out at the calm sunlight and changed his mind. “I'll wait,” he thought, “and see what happens.”