When Miss Frink returned to the White Room, she found the invalid transformed from the rôle of Faust, to that of some famous movie hero of the present day. He was in bed again too tired and worried to smile at her.
“I guess a nap will be the next thing, Miss Frink, and then perhaps Mrs. Lumbard will give us some more music,” said Miss Damon.
“Very well,” returned the lady briskly. “Here’s what I sent to Ogden.” She stood by the bedside and read the telegram. At the mention of Aunt Sukey, Hugh started to laugh. He was afraid to let himself go. He felt capable of a fit of schoolgirl hysterics.
“Yes, sir,” said Miss Frink stoutly; “it shall be just as Mr. Ogden says, not as you say, about sending for her. I know you, and your modesty about making trouble. Next time he gets up, Miss Damon, put this on your patient.” Miss Frink opened the waiting box and took out her gorgeous gift. She unfolded it before Hugh’s dazzled eyes, and Miss Damon exclaimed her admiration.
“You see Ross Graham isn’t such a country store, Mr. Stanwood,” declared Miss Frink.
Hugh whistled. “You called me modest,” he said. “Is it your idea that I shall ever wear that?”
“The clerk called it a dressing-gown for Prince Charming,” said Miss Frink triumphantly, “and here are the slippers, Mr. Stanwood. Of course, they’ll fit you because they haven’t any heels. I think the girl said they were called donkeys.”
“Queer,” remarked Hugh, “when donkey’s heels are their long suit.” But because his hostess was holding the satin near his hand and evidently wished it, he felt the rich fabric admiringly, again wishing himself back in that familiar basement, packing boxes, honestly.
“So music means a great deal to you, Mr. Stanwood,” said Miss Frink, regarding the patient thoughtfully.
“I don’t like that Mr. Stanwood from you,” he returned restlessly. “Hugh is my name, and I’d like you to use it.”