No," she said lightly but very firmly. "I couldn't very well, now,
could I?" and Oliver, in spite of all the broadmindedness upon which he
prided himself, was left rather dumb.
"Oh, it won't be--difficult," she added. "We can keep up--in the
office--yes?"
"Yes," said Oliver hastily. He might be signing a compact with all the
powers of darkness, but even so.
"For the rest, I am--used to things like that," she added, and once again
her face grew suddenly bright with pain. Then she recovered herself.
"Well--our next merry meeting and so forth," she said airily. "Because when
it happens, if it does, I may be so stodgily respectable you'll be
very glad to ask me to dinner, you know. Or I may be--completely
disreputable--one never knows. But in any case," and she gave her hand.
"Mr. Billett must be freezing to death in that car," she murmured.
"Good-by, Oliver, and my best if wholly unrespectable good wishes." "Thanks
and--good luck to you."
She turned on him swiftly.
"Oh, no. All the happiness in the world and _no_ luck---that's better,
isn't it? _Good_-by."
"Good-by.
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