"Don't you like that?" he asked anxiously. "Why shouldn't they sew?"

"But why should they--just because they're women?" I asked in answer, and after a moment he began to see light.

"Of course if you prefer having them write novels, model in clay and illumine parchments we'll add those departments," he declared, with a generous air. "We're determined to have everything that an altruistic age has thrust upon the manufacturer to reduce his net income."

"And--occasionally--_you'll_ be coming back to Oldburgh to see that the gardens grow silver bells and c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.ls and pretty maids all in a row?" I suggested, but after a momentary smile his face sobered.

"I don't know! There are things--in England--that complicate any arrangements, I mean _business_ arrangements, I might wish to make just now."

"And Loomis will have to get along without you?"

I had put the question idly, with no ulterior motive in the world, but he leaned forward until the arm of his revolving chair sc.r.a.ped against my chair.

"Loomis _can_ get along without me," he said, in a low tone, "and therefore must--but if I should find that I am needed--_wanted_ here in Oldburgh--"

The shriek of the city-bound trolley-car broke in at that instant upon the quiet of the room, interrupting his slow tense words; and I sprang up and crossed to the window, for I felt suddenly a wild distaste to having Maitland Tait say important things to me then and there! Something in me demanded the most beautiful setting the world could afford for what he was going to say!

"I ought--I ought to catch that car!"

He followed me, his face gravely wondering.

"My motor is here. I'll take you back to town," he said, looking over my shoulder into the noisy, dimly-lit scene.

"But--weren't you going to be busy out here this evening?"

"Yes--later. I'll go with you, then return to a meeting I have here."

He rang the bell beside his desk and a moment later the face of Collins appeared in the doorway. Outside the limousine was breathing softly.

I don't remember what we talked about going in to town, or whether we talked at all or not; but when the machine slowed up at the _Herald_ building and Maitland Tait helped me out, there was the same light shining from his eyes that shone there the night before--the light that made the glint of the silver oars on Cleopatra's Nile barge turn pale--and the radiance half blinded me.

"Grace, you don't want me to say anything to-night--I can see that,"

he said. "And you are right--if you are still bound to that other man!

I can say nothing until I know you are free--"

He whispered the words, our hands meeting warmly.

"But, if you are going away!--You'll come and say good-by?"

"If it's to say good-by there'll be no use coming," he answered. "You _know_ how I feel!"

"But we must say good-by!" I plead.

He leaned forward then, as he made a motion to step back into the car.

His eyes were pa.s.sionate.

"What matters where good-by is said--if we can do nothing but say it?"

he demanded. "It's _your_ next move, Grace."

CHAPTER XIII

JILTED!

When a tempest in a teapot goes out at the spout it is always disappointing to spectators!

One naturally expects the vessel to burst--or the lid to fly off, at least--and when neither takes place one experiences a little collapsed feeling of disappointment.

The barest thought of the pain I was going to inflict upon Guilford Blake when I broke my lifelong engagement to him had been sending shivers up and down my backbone ever since four o'clock on the afternoon of Mrs. Hiram Walker's reception--_then_, when I turned away from Maitland Tait's motor-car the night I went to Loomis on urgent business, and came face to face with my betrothed standing in the shadow of the office door waiting for me--the unexpected happened!

Mr. Blake broke his engagement with me!

"Grace, you amaze me!" he said.

He said it so quietly, with so icy an air of disapproval that I looked up quickly to see what the trouble was. Then I observed that he had told the truth. I hadn't crushed, wounded, nor annihilated him. I had simply amazed him.

"Oh, Guilford! I didn't know you were here!"

"I suppose not."

"But, how does it happen--?"

He motioned me to silence.

"Have the goodness to let me ask the questions," he suggested.

"Oh, certainly!"

"Will you, first of all, tell me what this means?" was the opening query, but before I could reply he went on: "Not that _I_ have any right to pry into your affairs, understand!"

"Guilford!"

"It's true! My right to question you has ceased to exist!"

"You mean that you have washed your hands of me?" I gasped. After all, it was most unusual for Guilford and me to be talking to each other like this. I was bewildered by the novelty of it.

He caught the sound of the gasp and interpreted it as a plea for quarter. It settled him in his determination.

"I must," he declared.

"By all means--if that's the way you feel about it," I said courteously, as if granting a request.

He looked down at me, in a manner that said: "It hurts me more than it does you, my child."

"I've endured--things from you before this, Grace," he reminded me, "But to-night--why, this out-Herods-Herod!"