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"Why in hell don't you do your duty?" he demanded. "What do you mean by letting them interfere with these workers?" The man flinched. He was apologetic. "So long as they're peaceable, Mr. Ditmar those are my orders. I do try to keep 'em movin'." "Your orders? You're a lot of damned cowards," Ditmar replied, and went on.
Ditmar exclaimed, and the waiter smiled as he served them. "Here's how!" he said, giving her a glass containing a yellow liquid. She tasted it, made a grimace, and set it down hastily. "What's the trouble?" he asked, laughing, as she hurried to the table and took a drink of water. "It's horrid!" she cried. "Oh, you'll get over that idea," he told her. "You'll be crazy about 'em."
Hannah's pessimism would persist as far as the altar, and beyond! On the whole, such was Janet's notion of the Deity, though deep within her there may have existed a hope that he might be outwitted; that, by dint of energy and brains, the fair things of life might be obtained despite a malicious opposition. And she loved Ditmar.
"Well, this is cosy, isn't it?" said Ditmar to Janet when they were alone. He handed her the menu, and snapped his fingers for a waitress. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to this place?" she asked. "I wanted to surprise you. Don't you like it?" "Yes," she replied. "Only " "Only, what?" "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that here." "All right.
Hampton suited Ditmar, his passion was the Chippering Mill; and he was in process of steeling himself to resist, whatever the costs, this preposterous plan when he was mercifully released by death.
And Ditmar, after driving the car a few paces beyond the entrance, led her through the revolving doors into a long corridor, paved with marble and lighted by bulbs glowing from the ceiling, where benches were set against the wall, overspread by the leaves of potted plants set in the intervals between them. "Sit down a moment," he said to her.
The hands of a delicate Georgian clock pointed to one. And in the large mirror behind the clock she beheld an image she supposed, dreamily, to be herself. The bell boy was taking off her coat, which he hung, with Ditmar's, on a rack in a corner. "Shall I light the fire, sir?" he asked. "Sure," said Ditmar. "And tell them to hurry up with lunch."
Janet, too, was momentarily amused, drawn out of that reverie in which she had dwelt all day, ever since Ditmar had left for Boston. Now she began to wonder what would happen if she were suddenly to announce "I'm going to marry Mr. Ditmar."
This tense craving for it she felt now was somehow the answer to an expressed wish which had astonished her. Perhaps that was the reason why she had failed to do what she had tried to do, to shoot Ditmar and herself! It was Ditmar's child, Ditmar's and hers! He had loved her, long ago, and just now was it just now? he had said he loved her still, he had wanted to marry her.
Had he not telephoned to Boston for the rooms, rehearsed in his own mind every detail of what had subsequently happened? Was there any essential difference between the methods of Ditmar and Duval? Both were skilled in the same art, and Ditmar was the cleverer of the two.
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