At the thought she heard again the fog-horns and the sirens.
Her sleep was fitful. Many times she went over again her talk with Howard, and she surprised herself by wondering what he had thought and felt since her departure. And ever and anon she was startled out of chimerical dreams by the clamour of bells-the trolley cars on their ceaseless round passing below. At last came the slumber of exhaustion.
It was nine o'clock when she awoke and faced the distasteful task she had set herself for the day. In her predicament she descended to the office, where the face of one of the clerks attracted her, and she waited until he was unoccupied.
“I should like you to tell me—the name of some reputable lawyer,” she said.
“Certainly, Mrs. Spence,” he replied, and Honora was startled at the sound of her name. She might have realized that he would know her. “I suppose a young lawyer would do—if the matter is not very important.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, blushing to her temples. “A young lawyer would do very well.”
The clerk reflected. He glanced at Honora again; and later in the day she divined what had been going on in his mind.
“Well,” he said, “there are a great many. I happen to think of Mr. Wentworth, because he was in the hotel this morning. He is in the Tremont Building.”
She thanked him hurriedly, and was driven to the Tremont Building, through the soggy street that faced the still dripping trees of the Common. Mounting in the elevator, she read on the glass door amongst the names of the four members of the firm that of Alden Wentworth, and suddenly found herself face to face with the young man, in his private office. He was well groomed and deeply tanned, and he rose to meet her with a smile that revealed a line of perfect white teeth.
“How do you do, Mrs. Spence?” he said. “I did not think, when I met you at Mrs. Grenfell's, that I should see you so soon in Boston. Won't you sit down?”