"To-morrow, then, here," was Elinor's answer, and finally tore herself away.
The moment she entered Leech's office, he broke out with:
"You haven't lunched, I know. Come on, Miss Ilingsworth, we'll lunch together."
"I can't do that, Mr. Leech, I've lunched already," she told him. But Leech saw clearly the falsity of this statement in the pallor of the girl's skin, in the hunger in her eyes. And, in the end, as he had planned, she consented to go with him. As they sat at one of Raphael's small tables she confided to him how she had been accosted by a strange woman. At first Leech seemed to regard the incident as not worthy of attention; but on second thoughts he warned Elinor not to see the woman again. And his motive in doing this was by no means a disinterested one, for so clearly and faithfully had Elinor reported the conversation between the stranger and herself, that the Assistant District Attorney could not fail to believe that Elinor had, in reality, found a friend.
"One has got to be so careful here in New York of everybody," he remarked with an admirable assumption of solicitude.
But true to her promise, the woman came to the Tombs the next day. And on seeing Elinor she came quickly toward her with outstretched hand; but the other merely shook her head and passed on inside. She felt independent of any outside aid now; for the attitude of Leech was most encouraging. And there was unusual happiness in her look, an infectious tone in her laugh as she said to her father:
"I know you'll get off somehow."
On the next day and the day after that, Elinor noted the woman still waiting at her post, still hoping, evidently, that Elinor would speak to her; and on each of these days Giles Ilingsworth felt the buoyancy in his daughter's manner.
"You're like a bit of sunshine in this place," he said.