"Why, here is Mrs. St. Cloud!" she cried.
"Guess I'll clear out," said the doctor, as Susie ran to the door. She was shy, socially.
"Nonsense, Jane," said her hostess, whispering. "Mrs. St. Cloud is no stranger. She's Mrs. Williams' sister—been here for years."
She came in at the word, her head and shoulders wreathed in a pearl gray shining veil, her soft long robe held up.
"I saw your light, Miss Elder, and thought I'd stop in for a moment. Good evening, Mrs. Pettigrew—and Miss Susie. Ah! Vivian!"
"This is my friend, Dr. Bellair—Mrs. St. Cloud," Miss Elder was saying. But Dr. Bellair bowed a little stiffly, not coming forward.
"I've met Mrs. St. Cloud before, I think—when she was 'Mrs. James.'"
The lady's face grew sad.
"Ah, you knew my first husband! I lost him—many years ago—typhoid fever."
"I think I heard," said the doctor. And then, feeling that some expression of sympathy was called for, she added, "Too bad."