Her hand came across the table--an impulsive little gesture, which he nevertheless found perfectly natural and delightful. He took it into his, and would have raised the fingers to his lips but for the waiters who were hovering around.
"You are so kind," she said, "and I am so fortunate. I think that I wanted a friend."
"You poor child," he answered, "I should think you did. You are not drinking your wine."
She shook her head.
"Do you mind?" she asked. "A very little gets into my head because I take it so seldom, and the manager is cross if one makes the least bit of a mistake. Besides, I do not think that I like to drink wine. If one does not take it at all, there is an excuse for never having anything when the girls ask you."
He nodded sympathetically.
"I believe you are quite right," he said; "in a general way, at any rate. Well, I will drink by myself to your brother's safe arrival in New York. Are you ready?"
She glanced at the clock.
"I must be there in a quarter of an hour," she told him.
"I will drive you to the theatre," he said, "and then go round and fetch my ticket."
As he waited for her in the reception hall of the restaurant, he took an evening paper from the stall. A brief paragraph at once attracted his attention.
Murder in the City.--We understand that very important information has come into the hands of the police. An ARREST is expected to-night or to-morrow at the latest.
He crushed the paper in his hand and threw it on one side. It was the usual sort of thing. There was nothing they could have found out--nothing, he told himself.