“I think, Mr. Strong,” answered Mrs. Brevoort, “that you had better go alone. It is getting late, and I must dress at once.”
“A woman’s eternal excuse for unsociability!” cried the youth petulantly. Then he grew beseeching. “I ask so few favors of you, Mrs. Brevoort,” he pleaded. “And, remember, Kate may have met with an accident. She would feel very lonely in that old lodge if I had to go for a doctor. I appeal unselfishly to you, Mrs. Brevoort. Walk over to the lodge with me. Please do!”
Mrs. Brevoort gazed at the blue waters of the Sound musingly. She was not anxious to bring a problem that must soon be solved to an issue at once. But she was really worried about Kate Strong and impatient to learn what had befallen her best friend. Furthermore, she knew that the short cut to the manor-house was not a lover’s lane, in that the path for the most part demanded the single-file formation. Her hesitation, therefore, was short-lived, and she was soon hurrying away from the club-house, with Ned Strong, in a gay mood, striding along at her side.
“I cannot understand, Mr. Strong,” she remarked severely, after they had left the main road and were following the narrow path that led toward the rear of the manor-house, “I cannot understand how you can be so light-hearted under these depressing circumstances.”
“The fact is, Mrs. Brevoort,” explained Ned, “that I am not greatly worried about Kate; and as for myself, I was never more contented in my life.”
He glanced back at Mrs. Brevoort merrily.
“And you will be late for dinner, too,” exclaimed his companion. “Surely you are one man among many thousands, Mr. Strong, to grow jolly with such a dismal fate staring you in the face.”
The youth laughed aloud. Then he half-turned around, and said, impressively:
“I eat nothing in these joyous days, Mrs. Brevoort. Food has not passed my lips for a week. I live on air, I walk on air, I am an airy nothing with a local habitation and a name. Speaking of that name, Mrs. Brevoort——”