CHAPTER XVIII
MARJORIE watched him bare his hand and then wonder what to do with it as he gazed down at her; for she made no correlative move. She not merely kept on her own gloves but she thrust her hands under her thighs and sat on them—a bit of taxi cab technique which evidently was new to Mr. Saltro and which puzzled him.
"We're going to Sennen's Hall," he said, and plainly it was a commentary on her extraordinary procedure.
"Yes," said Marjorie, blankly. "Clara told me."
"You haven't known Clara long?"
"About a week," Marjorie replied and withdrew her hands from under her as the swing of the cab about a corner swayed her toward Mr. Saltro, who seemed to become doubtful whether her original posture had been taken to discourage an advance or was really an inviting offer of helplessness beside him.
"Ever toddled at Sennen's?" he questioned, while he debated the alternative.
"No."
"Swell hall and fair music," Mr. Saltro said, with a certain charity of approval, professional in its tone.
"You're a musician yourself, Clara tells me," Marjorie said quickly, seizing the opening to turn his attention from herself to him.
"Oh, I play the trombone a little," Mr. Saltro admitted modestly; and, though she caught a deeper breath than any of the last few minutes, she accused
