"Well?" questioned Florence, and the pupils of her brown eyes widened.
Scotty flushed, but memory of the impassive Alec waiting below returned, and his anger arose.
"How much longer are you going to keep that negro waiting?" he demanded. "He has been here an hour already by the clock."
A look of almost childlike surprise came over the face of the girl, an expression implying that the other was making a mountain out of a mole-hill. "I really don't know," she said.
Scotty took a chair, and ran his long fingers through his hair perplexedly. "Florence," he said, "at times you are simply maddening; and I do not want to be angry with you. Alec says he is waiting for an answer. What is it an answer to, please? It is my right to know."
Again there was a pause, so long that Scotty expected unqualified refusal: and again he was disappointed. Without a word, the girl removed the note from the envelope and passed it over to him.
Scotty read it and returned the sheet.
"You haven't written an answer yet, I judge?"
"No."
The Englishman's fingers were tapping nervously on the edge of the chair-seat.