And so it happened that she was at the Home on Friday, when Patch's condition gave rise to such uneasiness as presently decided the superintendent to telephone to his master. Indeed, the fair-haired girl had discussed with Valerie the advisability of so doing.
"Mr. Lyveden's a busy man, I fancy, and we hate worrying people. But he's simply devoted to the dog, and he's pretty bad."
"I think," said Valerie slowly, "I think he ought to be told."
"Perhaps you're right, Miss French," said the girl. "I'll go and ring up."
She slipped out of the hospital, through the garden, and presently into her office.
It was perhaps ten minutes before she could speak with London. Then—
"Is that Lord Banff's house?" she inquired.
"Yes. Who are you?" said an unpleasant voice.
"Oh, can I speak to Mr. Lyveden?"
"Who?"