There was something warm, motherly in the older woman's reply.
"And we'd love to have you, Miss Deane. I'll send the car around right away."
Clancy shrugged as she surveyed again her meager wardrobe. But the Walbroughs must know that she lived in a lodging-house—she supposed that they'd obtained her telephone-number and address from Sophie Carey—and the fact that she didn't possess a gorgeous evening gown wouldn't mean much to them, she hoped. And believed, too. For they were most human persons, even if they did, according to Sophie Carey, matter a lot in New York.
Mrs. Gerand was quite breathless when she announced to Clancy, half an hour after the telephone-call, that a big limousine was calling for the newest Gerand lodger. Clancy was already dressed in the pretty foulard that was her only evening frock. Mrs. Gerand solicitously helped her on with her shabby blue coat. Her voice was lowered in awe as she asked:
"It ain't the Walbroughs, is it? The chauffeur said, 'Judge Walbrough's car;' but not the judge, is it?"
"Are there two of them?" laughed Clancy.
Mrs. Gerand shook her head.
"Not that I ever heard of, Miss Deane. But—gee, you got swell friends, ain't you?"
Clancy laughed again.
"Have I?"