As for asking her to fly away with him, he couldn't conscientiously so much as ask her to have dinner with him in Chicago. Not in the present state of his pocket.
One fact, however, emerged. He must propose something. He could at least have it out with old Boice. Settle that salary business. He'd have to.
Another fact is that he was by no means so cool as he, for the moment, fancied himself.
The door from dining-room to kitchen opened, rather slowly. There was a light step in the kitchen, and Mildred Henderson's musical little voice humming the theme of the Andante in the Fifth Symphony.
Henry and Corinne leaped apart. She smoothed her hair again, and patted her cheeks. Then she took a black hair from his shoulder.
They heard Mildred at the sink. Rinsing the dishes and the silver, doubtless.
'Hate to disturb you two,' she called, a reassuring if slightly humorous sympathy in her voice, 'but I promised Humphrey I'd get after you, Henry. He says you simply must get some work done to-day.'
Henry stood motionless, trying to think.'
'Do your work here,' Corinne whispered. 'Stay.'
He shook his head. 'A lot I'd get done—here with you. Now.'