"No, not alone," says she. "I want you to stay."
So I steps to the door. "Larry," says I, "you're called on the carpet; but for the love of soup don't pull any of that old sweetheart stuff reckless! The signs ain't right."
And a fat lot of notice he takes of my advice. Trust Larry! He pushes in eager ahead of me, marches straight to where she is, gives her one mushy, admirin' look, and the next thing I know he has reached for one of her hands and is kissin' it as graceful and romantic as James K. Hackett doin' a Zenda stunt.
Gave Mrs. Steele some jolt, that play did; for it's plain she was fixin' to frost him at the start. But it's all over before she has time to draw a breath, and he has let her fingers slip through his caressin'.
She flushes and stiffens up. "Silly as ever, I see," says she.
"More so," says he. "But it's only seeing you again that brings on the attack. Katie, you're glorious!"
"Please!" says she, protestin'. "I've rather outgrown my liking for sentimental speeches. Tell me, why do you hunt me up like this, after so long?"
"Can you ask?" says he. "Look! No--in my eyes, Katie."
And, say, with things gettin' that gummy, I was beginnin' to feel like a cold boiled potato served accidental with the pie.
"Excuse me," says I, "but maybe I'd better wait in the next room."
"Not at all," says Mrs. Steele, real crisp and businesslike. "It will be only for a moment, while Mr. Bolan states very briefly his exact purpose in coming here."
Larry bows. "To see once more the girl he could not forget," says he.
"Humph!" says she, curlin' her upper lip. "Very pretty, I suppose. But let me assure you that foolish young person ceased to exist several years ago."
"She lives for me--here," says Larry, placin' one hand on his left vest pocket.
Mrs. Steele indulges in a thin little cold-storage laugh that sounds almost as pleasant as tappin' a gas pipe. "What a sudden revival of an old, worn-out affection!" says she. "When did you first hear I was a widow?"
"Did they say I was rich, or poor?" she goes on sarcastic.
"Katie!" says he gaspy. "Surely you--you can't think----"
"It's what I ask them all," says she, "domestic and imported. Naturally I am a little suspicious when they declare passionate love at the first or second meeting; for, in spite of what my maids tell me, my mirror insists that I'm not ravishingly beautiful. So I've begun to suspect that perhaps my money may be the attraction. And I'm not in the market for a husband, you know."