“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Don’t, Mrs. Trevelyan!” he gasped, trying to draw away from her; but his head was whirling as he felt her breath on his face. “Mrs. Trevelyan—I—.”
“Micky dear! You ’ll come to see me in New York? Say you will! We must n’t lose sight of each other entirely.”
“Of course I ’ll come,” he answered weakly, the blood pounding in his ears.
“Come day after to-morrow—at five. We ’ll have a cup of tea together and talk over old times.”
“Very well.” He no longer tried to withdraw his hand.
There was a moment’s silence. Then:
“Micky! Will you do something’ for me?”
“Why, certainly!” he answered wondering what he could do for her.
“Bring this box with you.”
She laid the box containing the necklace gently on his knees.
“You will—won’t you?” she urged, bending towards him.
“Is it—all right?” he asked faintly.
“Why, Micky! Of course it ’s all right!”
249
