“This is Mrs. Page’s secretary,” she said. “Will you give me the message, please?”
“Tell Mrs. Page it’s Sambo,” said a curt and very clear masculine voice.
“It’s Sambo,” repeated Miss Moriarty, turning toward Serena.
She was surprised by the change that came over that haggard, petulant face. Forgotten were the nerves and the cruel diet. Serena sprang to her feet and ran to the telephone, and even her voice was changed.
“Sambo!” she cried. “What an hour! Yes, I know, but why didn’t you write me, just once? I’m not reproaching you, silly boy! Only I did think you’d have time just for a line. No, no! To-day, Sambo? But can’t you give me some idea what time? Surely some time to-day? Oh, all right! By-by, big boy!”
She came back to the table and sank into her chair, laughing.
“I’ll take a slice of that ham,” she said to the butler, “and cream for my coffee. Quick! I’m starving!” Then she looked at Geraldine. “Sammy Randall is coming,” she announced.
“How nice,” said Geraldine.
But Serena missed any irony there may have been in the words. Mrs. Anson had appeared in the doorway, and she called to her:
“Betty, Sambo’s coming out to-day!”