"Oh, Quin, I ought to have remembered!" Eleanor cried, with what he considered divine compassion. "I can't bear to hear you cough like that! It sounds as if it were tearing you to pieces."
"It's nothing!" said Quin, struggling to get his breath. "I'll be all right in a minute. What's the box by the door?"
Eleanor's glance followed his.
"If that old walrus, Pfingst, has dared to send me flowers again!" she cried, pouncing on the card and holding it so they both could read it.
Penciled in small, even lines were the words:
Sorry to find the lady-bird flown. Will call up in the morning. H. P.
Even in the dimly lighted hall, Quin could see the flush that suffused Eleanor's face.
"It's Harold Phipps," she said, trying to be casual. "I—I didn't know he was in town."
Quin followed her into the apartment, and stood dully by the table as she untied the box and lifted half a dozen exquisite white orchids from their bed of maidenhair ferns. Then, trying very hard to keep his voice steady, he asked gently:
"What does this mean, Miss Nell? I thought you weren't going to have anything more to do with that man."