Page ascended the steps toward a silk-curtained cabinet; a uniformed boy opened its glass door.
After remaining in the closet a minute and speaking a few sentences into the telephone, he beckoned to Miss Berry who had remained standing at the foot of the steps looking very apprehensive.
"Now, Aunt Love," he said encouragingly, as she slowly approached, a do-or-die expression on her face. Had Miss Berry been of the Romish church instead of being a "Con'regationalist in good and regular standing," she would assuredly have crossed herself before entering that tasteful little apartment.
Page smiled into his mustache as he placed the receiver in her hand, fervently wishing that he might hear both sides of the impending dialogue.
"Mr. Gorham," said Miss Berry, addressing him over her shoulder impressively, "think of the miles, the hours, I traveled; the rivers and lakes I crossed; the mountains I tunneled"—
"Yes, yes, Aunt Love; but don't keep our New York friend waiting."
"I feel prickly, Gorham. I think I'm goin' to faint."
"Oh no, you're not. Just say Hello," returned Page cheerily, his eyes twinkling.
"Hello," quavered Miss Lovina, and promptly the answer came:—
New York. Is this Miss Berry?