As far as Don was concerned, Miss Winthrop, instead of merely changing her lunch-place, might just as well have taken a steamer and sailed for Europe. He saw her at her desk every morning when he came in, and she always looked up and nodded––as she did, for that matter, to every one, including Blake. Then she turned to her work, and that was the end of her until the next morning. As far as he was able to judge, Miss Winthrop had completely and utterly forgotten the preceding weeks and even the incident that led to this disastrous climax.

But the situation that left her so unaffected got on Don’s nerves. He was by nature too much of a social being to endure being left to himself very long. This lunching alone day after day was a dreary affair. The egg sandwiches began to pall upon his taste, and he felt that he could not have eaten an Éclair had he been starving.

Sometimes he had only a cup of coffee, and then hurried out and wandered about the streets for the remainder of his hour. It was a long hour––a tedious hour. Most of the time he spent in the hope that, by some lucky chance, he might meet her. He did not hunt for her. He avoided her usual course. If he met her, it must be honestly by chance. But he never met her. He passed thousands of other young women, but he never met her. He used to return to the office sometimes doubting that she existed. But at one o’clock she was always there back of her machine.

He spent a good deal of time that week with Powers; and seemed to make some progress. He had now a definite knowledge of bonds and notes, and had even mastered, in a general way, the important details of some of the issues the house was handling. Twice he had taken home his papers and actually spent several hours upon them. Some of them he knew almost by heart. It was encouraging, but it would have been much more encouraging if he had been able to tell Miss Winthrop about it.

Somehow, he did not feel that he really 102 knew those things until he had told her he knew them. This was a curious frame of mind to be in, but it was a fact.

As far as he was concerned, he would have broken through this embargo long ago. But she had made him see, and see clearly, that he was not alone concerned. That was the whole trouble. If Blake talked only about him, and let it go at that, no harm would be done.

One Friday morning, toward eleven o’clock, Blake was out of the office, and Don had just finished a long talk with Powers, when he noticed that Miss Winthrop was not for the moment busy.

Don had an inspiration. He caught Powers just as he was about to leave.

“Look here, old man,” he said in an undertone. “Is there any objection to my dictating a letter to Miss Winthrop?”

“Why, no,” answered Powers. “She’s there for the use of the staff.”

“Thought I’d like to have her take down some of the things we’ve been talking about,” he explained.

“Good idea,” nodded Powers.

A minute later Miss Winthrop caught her breath as Don calmly walked to her desk, seated himself in a chair near her, and, producing a circular from his pocket, followed Blake’s formula in asking:––

“Can you take a letter for me, Miss Winthrop?”

Almost as automatically as she answered Blake, she replied:––

“Certainly.”

She reached for her notebook and pencil.

“My dear Madame,” he began.

“Any address, Mr. Pendleton?”

“I don’t know the exact address,” he answered. “Just address it to the little restaurant in the alley.”

She looked up.

“Mr. Pendleton!”

“To the little restaurant in the alley,” he continued calmly. “Do you use Madame or Mademoiselle to an unmarried lady?” he inquired.

“I suppose this is a strictly business letter, or you would not be dictating it in office hours,” she returned.

“I’ll make it partly business,” he nodded. “Ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Pendleton; but I don’t think––”

“Who is introducing the personal element now?” he demanded.

“Ready, Mr. Pendleton.”

My dear Madame:––

In reply to your advice that I acquire certain information relative to the securities which our firm is offering for sale, I beg to report that, after several talks with our Mr. Powers, I am prepared to give you any information you may desire.

“Try me on one of them?” he suggested, interrupting himself.

She raised her eyes and glanced anxiously around the office. Then she replied, as if reading from her notebook:––

“You forget, Mr. Pendleton, that I am taking a letter from you.”

“Try me on one of the bonds,” he insisted.

“You mustn’t act like this. Really, you mustn’t.”

“Then I’ll dictate some more. Ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Pendleton.”

Our Miss Winthrop has just informed me that you have lost your interest in the whole matter.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Pendleton,” she interrupted.

“What did you say, then?”

“I said that here in the office––”

“Oh, I see. Then scratch that sentence out.”

She scratched it out.

“Have it read this way”:––

Our Miss Winthrop informs me––

“Why need you bring me in at all?” she asked.

“Please don’t interrupt.”

––informs me that, owing to the lack of privacy in the office, you cannot discuss these matters here with me. Therefore I suggest that, as long as the luncheon hour is no longer convenient (for the same reasons), an arrangement be made whereby I may have the pleasure of dining with you some evening.

Miss Winthrop’s brows came together.

“That is absolutely impossible!” she exclaimed.

If the idea does not appeal to you as a pleasure,––

he went on in the most impersonal of tones,––

perhaps you would be willing to consider it as a favor. Our Miss Winthrop informs me that the suggestion is impossible, but personally I don’t see how anything could be more easily arranged. I would prefer Saturday evening, as on that date I am quite sure of being sufficiently well provided with ducats––

“You’d better save them,” she interrupted.

––to insure a proper settlement with the waiter,––

he concluded his sentence.

Please let me know, then, where I may meet you on Saturday evening next.

“I told you that was quite impossible, Mr. Pendleton,” she reminded him.

“You haven’t told me why.”

“There are a hundred reasons, and they can’t be discussed here.”

“That’s it,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That’s the whole trouble! We can’t discuss 107 things here; so let’s have our little dinner, and then there’ll be all the chance in the world for you to tell me why you shouldn’t come.”

“You’re absurd,” she declared, with an involuntary smile.

Hoping for the favor of an early reply,––

he concluded,––

I beg to remain, Madame, most sincerely yours.

“Is that all?”

“You might add this postscript”:––

I shall be at the Harvard Club at seven to-night, and a ’phone message there might be the most convenient way of replying.

“You don’t really wish this typed, Mr. Pendleton?”

“I think it best,” he replied as he rose, “unless you’re too tired?”

“I’m never tired in business hours.”

He returned to his desk; in a few seconds he heard the click of her machine.

Miss Winthrop did not stop at the delicatessen store that night, but went direct to her 108 room. She removed her hat and coat, and then sat down, chin in hands, to think this problem out.

She had missed Pendleton at the luncheon hour to a distinctly discomfiting degree. Naturally enough, she held him wholly responsible for that state of mind. Her life had been going along smoothly until he took it upon himself to come into the office. There had been no complications––no worries. She was earning enough to provide her with a safe retreat at night, and to clothe and feed her body; and this left her free, within certain accepted limits, to do as she pleased. This was her enviable condition when Mr. Pendleton came along––came from Heaven knew where, and took up his position near her desk. Then he had happened upon her at the little restaurant. And he was hungry and had only thirteen cents.

Perhaps right there was where she had made her mistake. It appeared that a woman could not be impersonally decent to a man without being held personally responsible. If she did not telephone him to-night, Pendleton would 109 be disappointed, and, being disappointed, Heaven only knew what he would do.

Under the circumstances, perhaps the wisest thing she could do was to meet him this once and make him clearly understand that she was never to meet him again. Pendleton was young, and he had not been long enough in the office to learn the downtown conventions. It was her fault that she had interested herself in him in the first place. It was her fault that she had allowed him to lunch with her. It was her fault that she had not been strictly businesslike with him in the office. So she would have dinner with him, and that would end it.

She had some tea and crackers, and at half-past six put on her things and took a short walk. At seven she went into a public pay station, rang up the Harvard Club, and called for Mr. Pendleton. When she heard his voice her cheeks turned scarlet.

“If you insist I’ll come to-morrow night,” she informed him. “But––”

“Say, that’s fine!” he interrupted.

“But I want you to understand that I don’t approve of it.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he assured her. “Where may I call for you?”

“I––I don’t know.”

“Where do you live?”

She gave her address.

“Then I’ll call there.”

“Very well,” she answered.

“Now, I call that mighty good of you,” he ran on. “And––”

“Good-night,” she concluded sharply.

She hung up the receiver and went back to her room in anything but a comfortable frame of mind.