Bob arrived early enough for a good half hour alone with his mother before dressing. Betty in her own room was taking an unprecedented time in the choice of a dinner toilet.
"You oughtn't to look too fine for a secretary," she reflected to herself in the glass, and her self in the glass reflected back rebelliously as if to say, "Oh, oughtn't I? Well, just to show you, I'll put on my frosted rose satin with the silver fringe." And she did.
Bob had less difficulty than he expected in withholding from his mother, as he had promised, the unusual state of affairs at Ipping House. Beyond a few perfunctory inquiries as to the welfare of the relatives, Eleanor asked no embarrassing questions. The mere mention of anything associated with her nocturnal adventure was distressing to her, and she felt grateful to her son for not pursuing the subject. There were plenty of other things to talk about; then, too, there was dinner to be ordered. Hitherto the meals had been sent up and the selection of dishes had been left to Betty, but this evening they were dining to music in the palmy splendor of the public dining room and the choice of a menu was reserved for the superior masculine intelligence of Robert Baxter.
Meanwhile in her own room in another part of the hotel Betty was standing with her back to the mirror. Something had happened. A coolness had sprung up between Elizabeth Thompson and her reflection; they were no longer on speaking terms. At the very last minute Betty, with sudden determination, had taken off the Parisian masterpiece which now hung across a chair, a toy Niagara of shimmering rose and silver spray, while the bewildered chambermaid hurriedly hooked her into the plainest gown she possessed, a simple black chiffon dinner frock.
"Quite good enough for a secretary," Betty remarked, as she turned her back on the mirror. There was no mistake about it, Miss Thompson and her reflection were not on speaking terms.
"I wonder what's keeping Betty," said Mrs. Baxter to her son, as they waited for the lift in the crimson carpeted hall.
She was conscious of her slip the moment she had spoken. Bob was watching the slow-moving machinery of the lift. A moment before he had quoted a remark of his father's about English elevators.
"It looks to me like you fellers use molasses instead of water to work your darned elevators," Hiram had said, and the Britisher's patronizing, "Oh, I say, that would be too expensive," had made Eleanor laugh.
Now at the mention of Betty's name Bob turned sharply.
"Betty?" he echoed. "You don't mean to say Betty's here! When did she come? Why didn't you tell me before?" He looked at his mother in amazement. "Why, what's the matter, Mother?"