He hoped again that Mrs. Condor's desire to see him had
to do with Claire--more particularly with her dismissal as accompanist.
Miss Menzies had quite recovered and there was really no reason for
Claire to continue in her service. It struck him as he pondered all
these matters how strange it was to find him concerned about these
feminine adjustments--he who had always stared down upon trivial
circumstances with cold scorn.
He arrived at Lily Condor's apartments almost upon the lady's heels. Her
hat was still ornamenting the center-table and her wrap lay upon a
wicker rocker, where, with a quick movement of irritation, it had been
cast aside.
Her greeting was not reassuring. "Oh...." she began coldly. "Isn't this
rather late for lunch?"
"I'm really very sorry," Stillman returned as he took a chair, "but to
be frank, I quite forgot about you."
"Well," she tried to laugh back at him, "there isn't any virtue as
disagreeable as the truth. I expected you would at least attempt to be
polite enough to lie."
"I hope you were not too greatly inconvenienced," he said, in a
deliberate attempt to ignore her irritation.
"I waited two hours, if that is what you mean. But then, _my_ time isn't
particularly valuable."
He rose suddenly. "I've told you that I was sorry," he began coldly,
reaching for his hat. "But evidently you are determined to be
disagreeable.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154