Mrs. Hardin’s roving eye scoured the hall. Rickard was not there. Patton called her from the desk. Some one wanted her at the telephone. It was Rickard, of course, at the office; to say he had been detained. The fear which had been chilling her passed by.
It was not Rickard on the wire, but Mrs. Hatfield, loquacious and coquettish. She urged a frightful neuralgia, and hoped that she was not putting her hostess to any inconvenience at this last moment. She wanted to prolong the conversation—had the guests all come? Were they really going? Then she must be getting old, for a night like this dismayed her! Gerty felt her good night was rudely abrupt. But was she to stand there gabbling all night, her guests waiting?
She prayed that Rickard would be there when she returned. What a travesty if the guest of honor should disappoint her! Though he was not among the different groups, her confidence in his punctiliousness reassured her. She must hold them a little longer. She flitted gaily from one standing group to another; she outtalked the jolly Blinns. Her eyes constantly questioned the clock.
“How long are you going to wait for Mrs. Hatfield?” Her husband came up, protesting.
“Mrs. Hatfield,” she explained distantly, “is not coming. We are waiting for Mr. Rickard.”
“He didn’t come in on that train; he’s at the Heading.” Hardin added something about trouble at the intake, but Gerty did not heed. Tom had known and had not told her when there was yet time to call it off!
“A pretty time to tell me!” Had he been looking at her, he would have been left no illusions. Her blue eyes flashed hate.
“I did not know it until we got here. There was a message from MacLean at the desk, waiting.”
MacLean was not there, either!
“Quarreling?” cried Blinn, drawing nearer. “I must separate husband and wife. Depend upon me to take your part, Mrs. Hardin.”