"George!" exclaimed Janet Pembroke. "Why, how strange I hadn't thought of it! Of course we must send for George. I'll telephone at once. You may go, Charlotte."
Again Charlotte left the room, and Miss Pembroke turned to Laura to explain.
"George," she said, "is George Lawrence, my cousin. He is my only relative except—Uncle Robert. He used to live with us, but a few months ago he moved to bachelor apartments farther downtown. If you will excuse me, I will telephone for him."
The telephone was in a small adjoining room, which was really rather a large alcove off the drawing-room. This was apparently a sort of music-room here, while my corresponding alcove—for the apartment was, of course, a duplicate of our own—I used as my smoking-room.
I heard Miss Pembroke, in a calm, clear voice, call up her cousin and ask him to come at once. She did not tell him what had happened. Then she hung up the receiver and returned to where we sat.
"I don't see why I didn't think of George sooner," she said. "I ought to have sent for him the very first thing."
"You were so dazed," I suggested, "that what would ordinarily be the most natural thing to do did not occur to you."
"Yes," she said, catching at my suggestion almost eagerly—"yes, that must have been it. I was dazed, wasn't I?"
"Indeed you were," said Laura soothingly. "You fainted quite away."
"Oh, yes," returned the girl; "that was when Doctor Masterson told me that Uncle Robert was dead. It was such a shock. I couldn't believe it, you know. Why, I never faint! I'm not that sort."