"Who brought this?"
"An old woman."
"What kind of a looking woman?"
"I don't know. Well—she looked like a janitress."
Alicia lacked decision how to act. The curt authority of those few words had created a good deal of an impression on her. This was the letter of a man; children cannot speak thus. An impatient hand, perhaps a desperate one, had written with vigorous letters the one word, "Urgent," on the envelope.
"What shall we do?" asked she.
"When he summons you, that way," judged Candelas, "something serious must have happened to him. Well——"
Alicia looked at her watch. It was just six. Without upsetting the program for the evening, she could still afford the luxury of a little condescension. She ordered the coachman:
"Number X, Calle Ballesta. Hurry!"