She made Joan sit down beside her and tell her at once all about Paris, and how many noblewomen she had met, and what they wore, and whether it was true that Frenchmen took more notice of married women, even of middleaged ones than of girls.
"Paris is the burg for me!" she sighed.
But in the midst of Joan's liveliest recital, her head dropped suddenly forward and she fell asleep. It was the other's first intimation that she had not come after all upon a wild goose chase.
She sat for a moment looking at this woman who had tried to be a mother to her, with her absurd golden head and beringed, puffy hands. Then, following an impulse rare with her, she stooped and kissed the painted cheek very tenderly. It was a pity that Effie May did not know.
She slipped away to the telephone and called up the Carmichael house. The maid told her that Miss Emily was at home.
("So she's not out riding with him!" thought Joan.)
Emily appeared politely surprised by her friend's arrival.
"Yes, Archie tells me how ill your step-mother is. I am so sorry! You say you will be here some time before you go back? I shall hope to see you, then."
"I hope you may," replied Joan even more politely, "but unfortunately I shall be very busy.... Look here, Emily Carmichael, what's the matter with you anyway? Come right over here and explain."
Emily came.