"
"I'm sorry, Anthony."
Before Anthony could make up his mind to blurt out his request, Maury
had turned coolly to the girl, helped her into the car and, with a
polite "good evening," stepped in after her. As he nodded from the
window it seemed to Anthony that his expression had not changed by a
shade or a hair. Then with a fretful clatter the taxi moved off, and
Anthony was left standing there alone under the lights.
Anthony went on into the Biltmore, for no reason in particular except
that the entrance was at hand, and ascending the wide stair found a seat
in an alcove. He was furiously aware that he had been snubbed; he was as
hurt and angry as it was possible for him to be when in that condition.
Nevertheless, he was stubbornly preoccupied with the necessity of
obtaining some money before he went home, and once again he told over on
his fingers the acquaintances he might conceivably call on in this
emergency. He thought, eventually, that he might approach Mr. Howland,
his broker, at his home.
After a long wait he found that Mr. Howland was out. He returned to the
operator, leaning over her desk and fingering his quarter as though
loath to leave unsatisfied.
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