He went with Margaret to hire a cart for the moving of her trunks, to interview Kidder about getting her Miss Morris's place in the background of "The Rajah's Ruby," and to see Mrs. Connors at the "Classic" about the costume for the part; and in the street-cars, as on the sidewalks, they seemed shut in together by the busy unconcern of the city—as they had been once by the storm on their umbrella, long ago—happy in the isolation of their common interests. Even when she forced him into a "gents' furnishing store" and helped him to choose a new hat, the clerk remained studiously indifferent to her coquettish participation in the purchase. And they ate luncheon, in a crowded "dairy restaurant," without so much as meeting a curious glance.
"Two checks," she directed the waitress. He attempted to protest that it was his "treat," and that her luncheon should be charged on his check. She said: "I'll never come with you again unless you let me pay my own way." He was wise enough to leave her that mark of her independence without any further argument; and she allowed him to escort her back to Mrs. McGahn's, where she wished to spend the afternoon writing letters and arranging her room.
He employed a vacant hour by strolling up the Avenue to call on Pittsey; and he found there a bitter letter from his aunt, upbraiding him for deserting Conroy after having, in the first place, induced the boy to run away to New York. He accepted her injustice with a calloused insensibility. A note from his uncle asked him to keep an eye on the prodigal, at least; and he tried to satisfy the obligation by asking Pittsey how Conroy was getting on.
