"I apologize," said Bradish, in the corridor. They were waiting for the
elevator.
"For what?" She lifted her eyebrows, and there was no hint of annoyance
in her dark eyes.
"For--well--seeing how the matter stands, it almost seems as if I had
presumed--was masquerading. I am only a clerk, and--"
"But you are a clerk in Julius Marston's offices," she said, with pride,
"and that means that you are to be trusted. I require no apology from
you, Mr.--er--"
"My name is Ralph Bradish."
"I dodged away from dullness last evening; I was hoping to have a bit
of a frolic. And I found a young gentleman who asked no impertinent
questions, who was very gracious, and who was a delight in the dance. It
was all very innocent--rather imprudent--but altogether lovely. There!"
"I thank you."
"And--well, after Nan Burgess's house-party, I--"
She glanced up at him, provocation in her eyes.
"But I don't dare to hope, do I, that you will condescend to come again
and dance with me?"
"Julius Marston has taught his daughter to keep her promise, sir. If I
remember, I promised."
He did not reply, for the elevator's grille door clashed open for them
to enter.
And in the elevator, and later in the car, he was silent, as became the
clerk of Marston's offices in the company of Marston's daughter when
there were listeners near.
Her eyes gave him distinct approval and her lips gave him a charming
smile when he alighted at his destination.
Bradish stood for a moment and gazed after the car when it threaded its
way into the Broadway traffic.
"She's a flighty young dame, with a new notion for every minute," he
told himself. "You can see that plain enough. It's probably all jolly on
her part. However, in these days, if a fellow keeps his head steady and
his feet busy, there's no telling what the tango may lead to. This may
be exactly, what I've been paying tailors' bills for."
Indicating that in these calculating times the spirit of youth in the
ardor of love at first sight is not as the poet of romance has painted
it.