rooms, chiefly," he announced and smiled, evidently feeling a smile was indicated; with equal willingness to fit his expression to an occasion, he would have groaned, Marjorie felt. He glanced up and down her once more with complete dispassion and then, looking behind him as though to make sure no one else was watching, he asked, "Do you want to know about some of these?"
Marjorie nodded, diverted by this narrow-faced young man who had the air of one so aged in experience.
"All right," said Mr. Dantwill and, picking up a pencil, with sudden force he drew it through the fourth address she had written; then he drew the pencil back through it, raised the point to his lips, wet it, and vehemently leaded over her writing.
Marjorie felt herself flushing hotly when he looked up at her. The number, she remembered, was on Clearedge Street about two blocks from Mrs. Russell's flat; what would Mr. Dantwill have done—she wondered—if she had brought to him the number 4689? What was the matter at this number he had so emphatically obliterated? Something worse than the matter at 4689? Well, what was worse?
"Thank you very much," she whispered to Mr. Dantwill and abruptly recovering her list, she turned and left the office.
For suddenly she realized that, by erasing that address, Mr. Dantwill had told her exactly what she wanted—though she had not been conscious of the want. For she had approached Mr. Dantwill, in the ordinary way, to learn from him which was the best place on her list; but she did not want to go to the best; she wanted to go to a place not recommended, if she was to end her epoch of protection during which
