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Miles glanced at the windows and then about the room. His heart sank. He was alone with Miss Veridian—or it may have been Miss Anamite. She sat opposite him, very straight, on the edge of a fiddle-back mahogany chair, her slim white hands crossed in her lap, and beamed coyly.
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"Oh, Mr. Fallon," she said, "I do
wish you might have come a moment
earlier, just a wee moment earlier!
We've had a call from such a dear
girl! I'm certain you would have
been charmed!"
"Indeed?" answered Miles, striving to keep the disappointment he felt out of his voice. "I'm sorry I didn't, Miss Ruggles. The—ah—the young lady has gone?"
"Scarcely two minutes ago, Mr. Fallon. Not more than two minutes, I think, my dear?" This to Miss—*
