He rang a bell, he despatched one or two messengers, he called a porter, and in a few moments Patty saw her bag and cloak carried by, the elevator door thrown open, and a pleasant-faced matronly woman coming toward them.
“This is Mrs. Ponderby, mademoiselle. She is one of our linen-keepers, but she is English, and most trusty and capable, so I offer you her services.”
Patty almost fell into the arms of the kind-looking woman, she was so glad to see her, but she only shook hands and said, “I am glad to have your services, Mrs. Ponderby,—come, let us go upstairs.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY
WHEN they were safely in their rooms, behind locked doors, Flo threw herself into Mrs. Ponderby’s motherly arms and wept as hard as she could, which was really pretty hard.
Patty stood by, looking at her. It had been a nerve strain for Patty, and now the reaction was coming on. Her lip quivered, and she said: “It isn’t fair of you, Flo, to take up all Mrs. Ponderby; I’m worse off than you are, for I don’t know but what my father is killed in some awful railroad smash-up.”
“He c-couldn’t be,” said Flo, sobbing still; “there c-couldn’t have been a smash-up on that train, unless we had known ab-bout it!”
“Well, I don’t know where father is, anyhow; and he doesn’t know where I am!”
Then Patty burst into real sobs, and the kind-hearted Englishwoman was at her wits’ end to know what to do with these two strange midnight visitors. But she rose nobly to the occasion.