“No, you mustn’t,” decided his wife. “Sim must try to get some sleep. You will, won’t you, my dear?”
“Yes, I will. Luckily tomorrow will be Sunday, and I can sleep late in my room—if I get there. Thank you both—so much! I’ll never forget this—never!”
Sim put her arms about Mrs. Newman’s neck and kissed her affectionately.
“Oh, my poor dear! I know just how you feel. You meant it all for the best, and there is really no harm done.”
“Not yet,” said Sim a trifle grimly as she followed Mr. Newman out to the big sedan that was waiting, with the chauffeur at the door, on the drive.
CHAPTER XII
Midnight Mishap
Arden’s slippered feet pad-padded up the dark stairs like small, softened trip-hammers as she hurried away from the telephone to inform Terry of the good news that Sim was safe and on her way.
She pushed open the door of 513 and shut it quickly behind her, panting and excited from her swift upward flight.
“Terry! Terry!” she began breathlessly. “It was Sim—on the phone. I talked to her!”
“Oh—good! Is she—all right?”