In a few moments Mr. Vyce came over to her desk and, taking up his station where he could catch a glance of what she was writing, remarked:
“Are you working overtime to-night, Miss Brown?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Vyce,” she said, covering the paper with her hands, “this is strictly confidential.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, between his teeth, altering his position. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I expect to be busy until six,” she replied, without looking at him.
“I have tickets for McVickar’s,” he continued. “Would you honor me with your company there this evening? It is not necessary that you return home to dress. We can dine at Palmer’s.”
“You must excuse me,” she replied, with a heightened color, “but I never go anywhere without my mother’s knowledge and permission.”
“But you went to the Auditorium two weeks ago with Thornton,” he said, in a tone of chagrin.
“Mr. Thornton asked mamma if I could go, and she consented.”
“You never invited me to call at your home, so I could become acquainted with your mother,” persisted Mr. Vyce, who was evidently jealous of the intimacy which existed between Vance and the young lady.