"You'll have to go," Lily Condor announced with an intimate air of
dismissal to Stillman. "It would never do to let a mere man in on the
secrets of the sewing-room."
At the door he hesitated awkwardly over his good-by. "I was wondering,"
he said, "whether you were serious about ... about hiring Miss Robson as
your accompanist. You know I think the plan has possibilities."
She threw back her head and smiled with hard satisfaction. "I've been
trying to figure if you had killed your imagination. Think it over."
She gave him the tips of her fingers. He returned their languid pressure
and departed.
As he drifted down the hall he heard her calling, half gaily, half
derisively, after him:
"Don't decide on anything rash now.... Sleep over it!..."
* * * * *
He thought it over for three days and when he called on Lily Condor
again he found her divorced from her languishing mood. She was dressed
for dinner down-town, and he had to confess she had made the most of
what remained of her flaming hair and dazzling complexion.
He felt that she guessed the reason for his visit, although she took
care to let him force the issue.
"About Miss Robson," he said, finally, "I've concluded to take you at
your word."
Lily Condor smoothed out her gloves and laid them aside. "Take me at
_my_ word? You're welcome to the suggestion, if that is what you mean.
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