"Looks like a baby's
eyebrow. Does it wash off?"
A step in the hall sent them flying in opposite directions, Nance back to
her desk, and Mac into the inner office, where his father found him a
moment later, apparently absorbed in a pamphlet on factory inspection.
When Nance started home at six o'clock, she found Dan waiting at his old
post beside the gas-pipe.
"It's like old times," he said happily, as he piloted her through the
out-pouring throng. "I remember the first night we walked home together.
You weren't much more than a kid. You had on a red cap with a tassel to
it. Three years ago the tenth of last May. Wouldn't think it, would you?"
"Think what?" she asked absently.
"Tired?" he asked anxiously. "Is the work going to be too heavy?"
She shook her head impatiently.
"No, the work's all right. But--but I wish you hadn't made me come
back, Dan."
"Stick it out for a week," he urged, "and then if you want to stop, I
won't say a word."
She looked up at him quizzically and gave a short enigmatic laugh.
"That's my trouble," she said, "if I stick it out for a week, I won't be
wanting to quit!"
CHAPTER XXV
MAC
Nance's prophecy regarding herself was more than fulfilled. Whatever
scruples had assailed her at the start were soon overthrown by the
on-rushing course of events. That first month in Mr. Clarke's office
proved to be a time of delightful madness. There were daily meetings with
Mac at the noon hour, stolen chats on street corners, thrilling suppers
with him and Monte at queer cafes, and rides after dark in that wonderful
racer that proved the most enticing of playthings.
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