But when I reached the drug store and entered the telephone booth, it was her voice which answered my call of Dicky's number.
"Yes, this is Mr. Graham's studio," she said smoothly. "No, Mr. Graham is not here, he has not been here since 11 o'clock. Pardon me, is this not Mrs. Graham to whom I am speaking?"
"I am Mrs. Graham, yes," I replied, trying to put a little cordiality into my voice. "You are Miss Draper, are you not?"
"Yes," she replied. "Mr. Graham wished me to give you a message. He was called away to a conference with one of the art editors about 11 o'clock. He expected to lunch with him and said he might not be in the studio until quite late this afternoon."
"Have you any idea where he is lunching or where I could reach him?" I asked sharply.
"Why! no, Mrs. Graham, I have not. Is there anything wrong?"
"His mother has been taken ill and I am very much worried about her. If Mr. Graham comes in or telephones will you ask him to come home at once, 'phoning me first if he will."
"Of course I will attend to it. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Nothing, thank you, you are very kind," I returned, and there was genuine warmth in my voice this time.
For the discovery that I had been mistaken in my idea of Dicky's luncheon engagement made me so ashamed of myself that I had no more rancor against my husband's beautiful protégé.