"I'll take you," he answered. "What's your proof?" "I sent her that stuff myself." "You? Holy smoke, that's going some!" "I sent her that to pay for some typewriting she did for me and because I knew she wouldn't take any money." "I lose. Come out and have a drink?" "Thanks," answered Don. "I'm on my way uptown. Give that quarter to Eddie." CHAPTER IX IT WILL NEVER DO If Miss Winthrop ever had more than a nodding acquaintance with Mr. Pendleton, she gave no indication of that fact when she came in the next morning. With a face as blank as a house closed for the season, she clicked away at her typewriter until noon, and then hurried out to lunch as if that were a purely business transaction also. Don followed a little sooner than usual. The little restaurant was not at all crowded to-day, but she was not there. He waited ten minutes, and as he waited the conviction grew that she did not intend to come. Don went out and began an investigation. He visited five similar places in the course of the next fifteen minutes, and in the last one he found her. She was seated in a far corner, and she was huddled up as if trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. As he strode to her side with uplifted hat, she shrank away like a hunted thing finding itself trapped. "What did you run away for?" he demanded. "What did you hunt me up for?" she replied. "Because I wanted to see you." "And I came here because I did _not_ want to see you." "Now, look here--" he began. "So I should think you'd go along and leave me alone," she interrupted. "If I did that, then I'd never know what the trouble is all about," he explained. "Well, what of it?" "May I sit down?" There was an empty chair next to her. "I can't prevent you, but I've told you I want to be alone." "When you look that way, you're just as much alone as if I weren't here," he returned, as he took the chair. "And every one knows it." She gave a swift glance about the room, as if expecting to find half the crowd looking at her. "Maybe they are too polite to let on," he continued; "but I know just what they are saying to themselves. They are saying, 'She certainly hasn't much use for him. You'd think he'd take the tip and get out.'" "You don't seem to care much, then, about what they say." "I don't care a hang," he admitted. She pushed her plate away as if ready to go. "Wait a minute," he pleaded. "It doesn't seem like you to go off and leave a man in the dark. How in thunder am I going to know any better next time if you don't tell me where I made the break?" "I don't believe you'd know if I did tell you," she answered more gently. "The least you can do is to try." She did not want to tell him. If he was sincere--and the longer she talked with him, the more convinced she was that this was the case--then she did not wish to disillusionize him. "The least you can do is to give me a chance," he persisted.