“Oh, I’ve forgotten most about her long ago. And I’ve something else to remember now, I hope. I’d like to talk about myself, though. I’d like some girl to hear about my ambitions. I really think it would do me good.” 118
He stopped, as though expecting an answer. None came. He bent his eyes closer on her and repeated:
“It would!”
And at that moment, a pair of high heels tapped in the doorway, a cheerful voice called for admission through the portières, and enter Kate Waddington. Mr. Chester, Eleanor saw, rose to her entrance as one who has not always risen for women; there was something premeditated about the movement.
“Mrs. Tiffany said you two were in here,” she began in her full, rich contralto, “and I made so bold, Nell—Mrs. Masters is taking a party over to their ranch next Sunday. One of her men has disappointed her and she’s just telephoned to give me the commission to fill his place. Mr. Chester, you are an inspiration sent straight from Heaven. Any other man, positively any other, would be a second choice—but she didn’t know you when she made up the party, so how could she have invited you?”
She paused and threw an arch look past Eleanor.
“Sure I’ll come!” said Bertram, jarred into 119 the vernacular by his internal emotion of pleasant surprise. “Sure—I’d be delighted.”
“I told Mrs. Masters you’d be the ready accepter,” said Kate.
“You’re going too, aren’t you?” asked Bertram of Eleanor.
“No; I had to decline, I’m sorry to say.”