Jane, "Sorry, Jane, I've got to beat it." He jumped up into the seat and was off.
Jane returned to Carter, who was tapping an impatient and highly polished toe on the sidewalk.
"That's Daisy's brother," Jane explained. "I had to tell him about tonight."
Carter recovered his good humor. He hailed the next taxi.
"Sure you won't take a little ride through the Park first?" he asked.
Jane shook her head and he reluctantly told the driver to convey them to De Lacey Street.
The taxi threaded its way slowly through the traffic of Madison Avenue and across the maelstrom of wheels, gasoline and scurrying pedestrians that was 42nd Street. A quick thrusting on of brakes a few blocks farther on threw Carter against Jane, and he did not bother to move back into his former position, though she glanced at him disquietingly a few times. He went on chatting to her, his tones becoming ever more personal and softer.
"In the short time I've been with you, I've grown very fond of you—and your grandfather—Jane," he told her. And added slyly, "If I may call you—Jane."
"You've been very kind to us," she faltered.
"It's been nothing. I'd like to do more for you," he declared.
Something warned her and she edged away from him a little.
"Don't you trust me?" he asked reprovingly.
