“His uncle had a sister to support besides Paddy’s mother. His pay as brigadier in the regular service is only fifty-five hundred. He can’t have saved much of anything in the past, and he may last a dozen years yet—or more. Even if he does leave everything then to Latrobe, what’ll you do meantime? Don’t be a fool, Nita, because I was. I had to be. It was that or nothing, and father was getting tired. You heard how he talked.”
The younger sister was still at the dressing-table diligently brushing her shining, curly tresses. She had regained her composure and was taking occasional furtive peeps at Mrs. Frank, now seated at the foot of the bed, busy with a buttonhook and the adjustment of a pair of very dainty boots of white kid, whose buttons gleamed like pearls. The mates to them, half a size smaller, peeped from the tray of Nita’s new trunk.
There came a footstep and a rap at the door. “See what it is, Nita, there’s a love—I don’t want to hop.”
It was a card—a new arrival at the hotel.
“Gentleman said he’d wait in the parlor ’m,” said the bellboy, and vanished. Nita glanced at the card and instant trouble stood in her paling face. Silently Mrs. Garrison held out her hand, took the card, and one quick look. The buttonhook dropped from her relaxed fingers. The card read:
“Mr. Gouverneur Prime.”
For a second or two the sisters gazed at each other in silence.
At last the elder spoke: “In heaven’s name, what brings that absurd boy back here? I thought him safe in Europe.”