Miller himself.
"Who is that fellow?" he asked in an undertone. "I didn't catch his
name."
Sharlee told him.
"He's got a fine face," observed Mr. Miller. "I've made quite a study of
faces, and I never saw one just like his--so absolutely on one note, if
you know what I mean."
"What note is that?" asked Sharlee, interested by him for the only time
so long as they both did live.
"Well, it's not always easy to put a name to it, but I'd call it ...
_honesty_.--_If_ you know what I mean."
Mr. Miller stayed until half-past ten. The door had hardly shut upon him
when Byrd, too, rose.
"Oh, don't go, Beverley!" protested Sharlee. "I've hardly spoken to
you."
"Duty calls," said Byrd. "I'm going to walk home with Mr. Miller."
"Beverley--don't! You were quite horrid enough while he was here."
"But you spoiled it all by being so unnecessarily agreeable! It is my
business, as your friend and well-wisher, to see that he doesn't carry
away too jolly a memory of his visit. Take lunch downtown with me
to-morrow, won't you, Mr. Queed--at the Business Men's Club? I want to
finish our talk about the Catholic nations, and why they're decadent.
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