She made little movements that suggested departure. She was regarding
him now with the old curious look that had puzzled him.
"You're just as perfectly nice as I knew you were," she announced, with
an obvious pride in this bit of proved wisdom.
"Good-night!"
From a distance of five feet she bestowed the little double-nod upon him
and fled.
"Good-night!" he managed to call after her. Then he was aware that he
had wanted to call her "Chubbins!" He liked that name for her. If he
could only have said "Good-night, Chubbins--"
For that matter he basely wanted again to--but he thought with shame
that he had done enough for once. A pretty night's work, indeed! If
Breede ever found it out--
When he left with Breede in the morning, she was on the tennis-court.
Brazenly she engaged in light conversation across the net with no other
than Thomas Hollins, Junior. She did not look up as the car passed the
court, though he knew that she knew. Something in the poise of her head
told him that.
He didn't wonder she couldn't face him in the light of day. He smiled
bitterly, in scorn for the betrayed Tommy.
IX
Back in the lofty office that Saturday morning he sat under the eye of
Breede, in outward seeming a neat and efficient amanuensis. In truth he
was pluming himself as a libertine of rare endowments. He openly and
shamelessly wished he had kissed the creature again.
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