She moved through the house into the shop. There was Mrs. Whipp, her head tied up in a handkerchief, bending over a packing-box. She started at a sound, raised her head, and stood amazed at the visitor's identity.
"I knocked, but you didn't seem to hear me," said Mrs. Barry with dignity.
"Yes'm, I did hear a knock," returned Charlotte, "but they pound there all day, and o' course I didn't know't was you. I tell Miss Upton if we kept the door locked and the shades down all the time, we'd do a drivin' business. Folks seem jest possessed to come in and buy somethin' 'cause they can't. Did you want somethin' special, Mrs. Barry?"
"I came to see Miss Melody. I wished to inquire if she has recovered from her excitement."
A softened expression stole over Charlotte's weazened face.
"She ain't here. They've gone to the city."
"Who—who did you say has gone?"
Mrs. Barry controlled her own start. Visions of two in that roadster swept over her. Perhaps, she herself having forfeited her right to consideration—there was no telling what might have happened by this time. Mrs. Whipp's smile was frightfully complacent.
"Miss Upton and her went together," was the reply. "Of course, all the girl's clo'es was in the den o' that fiend she got away from, and she had to git some more."
Mrs. Barry breathed freer.