"
"Thanks, Sylvester." Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. "Would you mind
driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there."
Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. "Home, , Harris," she
directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.
Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they
swung past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.
"Mr. Kent," she drew further back in her corner. "I claim a woman's
privilege - to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish
to consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to
meet you as a friend."
"Certainly, Mrs. Brewster, as you wish." Kent's tone, expressing
polite acquiescence, covered mixed feelings. What had caused the
widow to change her mind so suddenly, and above all, what had she
wished to consult him about? He faced her more directly. She
was charmingly gowned, and in spite of his perplexities, he could
not but admire her air of quiet elegance and the soft dark eyes
regarding him in friendly good-fellowship.
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