The maid was there, preparing a becoming tea-gown. She had no doubt conjectured that Mr. Landers would be coming back for dinner.
“Aline! Tomorrow’s steamer—it’s not too late to call up the office?”
The maid stood staring, incredulous, the shimmering dress on her arm.
“The steamer—not tomorrow’s steamer?”
“The steamer on which I had taken passages,” Mrs. Clephane explained, hurriedly reaching for the telephone book.
Aline’s look seemed to say that this was beyond all reasonable explanation.
“But those passages—Madame ordered me to give them up. Madame said we were not to sail till next week.”
“Never mind. At this season there’s no crowd. You must call up at once and get them back.”
“Madame is not really thinking of sailing tomorrow? The boat leaves at six in the morning.”
Mrs. Clephane almost laughed in her face. “I’m not thinking of doing it; I’m going to do it. Ah, here’s the number—” She unhooked the receiver.