"Why you are not old at forty-one!" exclaimed Mary Johnson, forgetting that she was listening to an avowal. "And as for being ugly, I'd say that your rugged face denotes character, which is far more worthwhile than being good looking. But why do you tell me all this over the telephone? Weren't you brave enough to say it to my face?"
"No, coward that I am—I just couldn't," sighed Updyke so loudly that Mary Johnson heard it over the wire.
Then came a pause, a very long one, each expecting the next word to come from the other. Finally, the softly modulated voice of Mary Johnson came into the Updyke ear.
"Why not call with your car to-morrow evening, then we can talk more freely," she suggested. "Am I never to ride in that big machine?"
"I always knew you were the brains of the business, Mary. It's no wonder that——"
"Don't say it over the wire," warned Mary. "I'd rather hear it more directly."
"Then be ready at seven, my——"
"Never mind—careful what you say—some one listening in," said she as both heard the guilty click of the switchboard. "Au revoir—I'll be ready at seven, but I will not go to the office to-morrow."
"No—and when Miss Carew returns, you will come and go as you please," said he, as she answered "Good night."
Then the big fellow hung up the receiver.