so I can sort of keep in touch with things at the factory."
Fay Judson went icy cold. For a moment she was white and motionless. George, his eye on the man with the mail, was suddenly made aware that something was wrong, decidedly wrong, by the quick, hurt tones in which she demanded: "Do you mean that you arranged for him to come here? That Blakeley is a part of your plan for our—our honeymoon?"
George turned to find the blue eyes burning with reproach and threatening any moment to fill with tears. He was struck dumb with bewilderment. He had been a little proud of himself for this idea of having Blakeley join him here. It meant ease of mind and hourly assurance, if need be, that all was well at the works, so he could give himself up the more unreservedly to his love-making. Now he did not know what to say except to confess the truth rather sheepishly.
"Why, why—yes, dear!"
"Oh, George!" his wife moaned, as if he had struck her. "A secretary? On our honeymoon!"
She turned on her heel and flew past him. He did not need to follow her in order to know that she had flung herself face down upon the bed and was muffling the sound of sobs in pillows.
