"
"No, of course I didn't mind," she replied warmly, her spirits rising a
little. He was such a nice boy--the sort of boy one could be pals
with. "You must come and see me at Brutton Square. Come to tea one
day, will you?"
"_Won't I_?" he said heartily. "Good-bye." And the taxi swept away
down the street.
Jerry returned to the drawing-room to find Errington staring moodily
out of the window.
"I say, Max," he said, affectionately linking his arm in that of the
older man. "What had you been saying to upset that dear little person?"
"I?"
"Yes. She was--crying."
Jerry felt the arm against his own twitch, and continued relentlessly:--
"I believe you've been snubbing her. You know, old man, you have a
sort of horribly lordly, touch-me-not air about you when you choose.
But I don't see why you should choose with Miss Quentin. She's such an
awfully good sort."
"Yes," agreed Errington. "Miss Quentin is quite charming."
"She thinks you don't like her," pursued Jerry, after a moment's pause.
"I--not like Miss Quentin? Absurd!"
"Well, that's what she thinks, anyway," persisted Jerry. "She told me
so, and she seemed really sorry about it. She believes you don't want
to be friends with her."
"Miss Quentin's friendship would be delightful. But--you don't
understand, Jerry--it's one of the delights I must forego."
When Errington spoke with such a definite air of finality, his young
secretary knew from experience that he might as well drop the subject.
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