“I’m coming back again,--just the same!” he bawled. Jeannette did not look around, and the door clicked shut.
The next time he called she was taking dictation from Mr. Corey and was unaware he had come. When she finished with her employer, and picked up the sheaf of letters he had given her, she passed through the connecting door between the two offices, and found Devlin waiting in her room.
“_Really!_” She stopped short and frowned in quick annoyance.
“Well, here I am again!” he said blandly.
“And here’s where you go out!” She walked towards the door that led to the outer office and flung it open.
Devlin’s face altered, and a slow color began to mount his dark cheeks.
“Aw--say----” he said in hurt tones. The smile was gone; for the moment his face was as serious as her own.
Jeannette did not move. Devlin picked up his hat and gloves.
“My God!” he exclaimed fervently, “you’re hard as nails!”
As he went out she suddenly felt sorry for him.
But that was not the last of him. His card appeared the next afternoon. Mr. Corey was again away from the office.
“I’m not in to this person,” she said to Jimmy, “and if he bribes you to show him in here, I’ll go straight to Mr. Kipps and have you fired.”
The next day he telephoned. She hung up the receiver, and told the girl at the switch-board to find out who wanted her before she put through any more calls. The day following brought a letter from him, but as soon as she discovered his signature, she tore it up and threw it in the waste-paper basket. Two minutes later, she carefully recovered its ragged squares and pieced them together.
“My dear Miss Sturgis,” it read, “you must overlook my boorish methods. I’ll not bother you again, but I beg you will not hold it against me, if I try to make your acquaintance in some more acceptable manner. Yours with good wishes, Martin Devlin.”
He wrote a vigorous hand,--strong, distinct, individual.
Jeannette considered the letter a moment, then uttered a contemptuous “Puh!” scooped the fragments into her palm, and returned them to the receptacle for trash.
Toward the end of the week, she had a telephone call from Beatrice Alexander. She had not seen the girl for nearly four years but remembered how exceptionally kind she had been to her that first day she went to work, and thought it would be pleasant to meet her again, and talk over old times. They arranged to have luncheon together.