“What can he want?” murmured Sim.
“I wonder if anything could have happened to Granny—or at the Hall?” questioned Arden.
“Did he say what he wanted, Moselle?” Sim asked, and Moselle let her eyes rove about the room containing the four pretty girls and the very presentable Harry Pangborn. Perhaps Moselle wondered at a gentleman not a physician visiting in Terry’s room, but the cook said nothing about that. She merely remarked:
“He didn’t say what he wanted—just asked to see one of the young ladies.”
“Which one?” asked Terry, laughing, for her ankle pain was much relieved by the comforting bandages and the liniment the doctor had used.
“He didn’t say, Miss Terry, but I ’spects he meant Miss Sim.”
“I’d better go down,” Sim decided.
“I hope,” remarked Arden as Sim started downstairs, “that Dick’s call has nothing to do with Granny Howe being ill, or anything like that. What I was just going to tell you has to do with Granny.”
“I had a glimpse of her near her little cottage as I was leaving the Hall,” said Harry. “She seemed to be all right, bustling about in the snow like some Colonial housewife. Very picturesque.”
“Hurry back, Sim, and tell us,” begged Dot. “I’m dying with curiosity, and if he’s good-looking and young and all that sort of thing, he might come around oftener. You hinted there might be some young men when you asked me out for the holidays,” she said, mischief again sparkling in her rather fascinating eyes.