Will you not dine with me to-morrow, or rather, this evening,
at the Ashton, at eight o'clock? Jonas, who will bring you this, can
bring your answer. Sincerely yours, Enoch Huntingdon."
He gave the note to Jonas the next morning. Jonas' black eyes, when he
saw the superscription, nearly started from their sockets: for during
all the years of his service with Enoch, he never had carried a note to
a woman. It was mid-morning when he tip-toed to the Secretary's desk
and laid a letter on it. Enoch was in conference at the time with Bill
Timmins, perhaps the foremost newspaper correspondent in America. He
excused himself for a moment and opened the envelope.
"Dear Mr. Secretary: Thank you, yes. Sincerely, Diana Allen."
He slipped the letter into his breast pocket and went on with the
interview, his face as somber as ever. But all that day it seemed to
the watchful Jonas that the Secretary seemed less tired than he had
been for weeks.
There was a little balcony at the Ashton, just big enough for a table
for two, and shielded from the view of the main dining-room by palms.
It was set well out from the second floor, overlooking a quiet park.
Enoch was in the habit of dining here with various men with whom he
wished semi-privacy yet whom he did not care to entertain at his own
home.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168