“Oh, not that, exactly. Please don’t be mean. I’m not so bad. It’s just a principle with me. We all have our little foibles.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Aileen; but her mind was running on Mrs. Hand. So she was the latest. “Well, I admire his taste, anyway, in this case,” she said, archly. “There have been so many, though. She is just one more.”
Lynde smiled. He himself admired Cowperwood’s taste. Then he dropped the subject.
“But let’s forget that,” he said. “Please don’t worry about him any more. You can’t change that. Pull yourself together.” He squeezed her fingers. “Will you?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in inquiry.
“Will I what?” replied Aileen, meditatively.
“Oh, you know. The necklace for one thing. Me, too.” His eyes coaxed and laughed and pleaded.
Aileen smiled. “You’re a bad boy,” she said, evasively. This revelation in regard to Mrs. Hand had made her singularly retaliatory in spirit. “Let me think. Don’t ask me to take the necklace to-day. I couldn’t. I couldn’t wear it, anyhow. Let me see you another time.” She moved her plump hand in an uncertain way, and he smoothed her wrist.
“I wonder if you wouldn’t like to go around to the studio of a friend of mine here in the tower?” he asked, quite nonchalantly. “He has such a charming collection of landscapes. You’re interested in pictures, I know. Your husband has some of the finest.”
Instantly Aileen understood what was meant—quite by instinct. The alleged studio must be private bachelor quarters.
“Not this afternoon,” she replied, quite wrought up and disturbed. “Not to-day. Another time. And I must be going now. But I will see you.”