Webster.
While there was nothing to indicate that Mr. Hatch heard her, the
most disinterested spectator would have observed a perceptible
acceleration of speed on his part.
"You promised to tell me how to--" But Mr. Hatch was gone. Mr.
Webster turned a surprised and resentful look upon him as he felt
himself being pushed rather roughly through the door ahead of the
hurrying photographer. When Miss Angie reached the door,--she had
lost some little time because of the seats and the stupidity of
Mrs. Primmer who blocked the way by first turning to the right,
then to the left, and finally by not turning at all,--Mr. Hatch was
nowhere in sight, even though Mr. Webster was barely two-thirds of
the way down the stairs.
A pleasant, courteous voice accosted her from behind as she stood
glaring after the chubby warehouseman.
"Do you mind if I walk home with you, Miss Miller?"
"Oh, is--is that you, Mr. Thane?" she fairly gasped. Then she
simpered. "I'm really not a bit afraid. Still,"--hastily--"if you
really wish to, I should be delighted."
If Mr. Hatch was lurking anywhere in the shadows, he must have been
profoundly impressed by the transformation in Miss Angie Miller as
she strode homeward at the side of the tall young New Yorker, her
hand on his arm, her head held high,--he might also have noticed
that she stepped a little higher than usual.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124