“I dare say!” said Ross, grimly.
XXI
“Left hand, please!”
Obediently, Mrs. Barron took her left hand out of the bowl of warm water, and laid it on the towel, carefully, as if it might melt. And the manicurist bent over it with her nice air of earnest attention.
All this was agreeable to Mrs. Barron. She was rather proud of her hands; she was altogether comfortable and tranquil; she had a pleasant, restful day before her.
In the afternoon she and her daughter were going to look at fur coats, which was really better than the actual buying; and, in the evening, they were all going to a play. The sun was shining, too, and the formal sitting room of her hotel suite was cheerful and warm, and filled with the perfume of the roses that stood all about.
“It’s good to be home again,” she remarked. “At my time of life traveling is not—” The telephone bell rang. “Answer that, my dear. It’s dangerous to touch a telephone with damp hands—Oh! A gentleman to see Miss Barron? What a strange time to call—ten o’clock in the morning! Ask his name, my dear. He was on the Farragut with us? But how very strange! Why doesn’t he give his name? But ask him to come up.”
She dried her hands and arose, majestic even in her frivolous negligee.
“Very strange!” she murmured.
There was a knock at the door.