There was a knock on her door, and her father said timidly: "Mr. Riever is down stairs, my dear."
Pen answered composedly: "Very well. I'll be down directly."
Pendleton was delighted. "Thank you, daughter," he purred.
It induced a fresh access of anger in Pen. He had nothing to thank her for!
Pendleton pattered happily down-stairs. Pen washed and dressed, never ceasing to admonish herself, and in the end achieved a fair measure of self-command, though her nerves were in bad shape.
Riever was waiting with a certain air of bravado. Only an involuntary roll to his eyes betrayed the dark passions that ate him. She greeted him calmly. He looked secretly relieved.
"I scarcely expected to see you," he said smoothly. "I just came to enquire how you are."
"And to express my indignation at what happened last night. Delehanty certainly goes beyond all bounds! When I get back to New York I shall talk to the Commissioner about it!"
"Oh, the man must do his work," said Pen. "Surely, he doesn't expect me to be taken in by this palaver!" she thought.
"He's supposed to exercise some discretion ... You're really all right again?"
It came to her that he didn't expect her to be taken in. He was satisfied if she would only appear to be taken in. For different reasons he was just as anxious to maintain relations as she was. He just wanted everything unpleasant covered up. That was the spoiled child of it. Pen thought: "I believe he'd actually marry me without inquiring into my feelings." Well, it made it easier for her.
Pendleton made some transparent excuse to leave the room. Riever's shifty eyes gave a roll of terror, thinking that perhaps Pen might now insist on dragging the truth into the light.
Pen however only said: "I'm surprised to see you on foot this afternoon."
His face turned smug again. "I like walking," he said. "It's my ridiculous people that insist on having me carried every step."
"Do you walk much in New York?" asked Pen.
He was flattered by her interest. "Yes, very much," he said.
"But I forget, you don't live in the city, do you?"
"Well, not exactly a home, but a very pleasant little lodging."
"No, I detest apartments. One always feels as if the hall servants were spying on your comings and goings."