Grace obeyed, and Char began feverishly to make order amongst the pile of papers on her table.
"I'm leaving a lot undone," she muttered, "but I suppose I shall be here tomorrow morning. I must be."
Ten minutes later the car was at the door.
"Miss Jones, see that all these go tonight," Char rapidly instructed her secretary. "The letters I haven't been able to sign must be held over till tomorrow. By the way, didn't the—er—your Hostel Superintendent say that she wanted an appointment with me this evening?"
"Mrs. Bullivant? Yes. She was coming at eight."
"Then, please tell her what's happened, and say that I will arrange to see her some time tomorrow. That's all, I think."
"I hope Sir Piers Vivian will be better by the time you get back."
"I hope so. Thank you. Good-night, Miss Jones."
Char hurried downstairs, hoping that the tone of her voice had put Miss Jones into her proper place again. She did not encourage personal amenities between herself and her staff.
It was nearly nine o'clock before she got to Plessing. It had taken a long while to find Dr. Prince, and the chauffeur drove with maddening precautions through a thick wet mist along the sodden, slippery roads.