“I’m sorry, Bertie!” she said. “I was very stupid!”
He looked at her in silence, and when she was home and safely in bed, he telephoned for the doctor.
§ iii
Andrée and Al had been to the opera that evening and to supper afterward, so that they were late in getting back to the apartment. The desk clerk handed them a message received hours ago.
“Please ask Mrs. Stephens to go home at once. Her mother is ill.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MUTINY
§ i
ANDRÉE was wandering about the “second parlour” that Sunday afternoon, in a state of joyful idleness, humming to herself. It was so blissful to be at home again, now that the horrible shadow was lifted from her mother. She felt a new and precious sense of lightness and irresponsibility, a return of girlhood. She loved the old life, the kindly servants, the jolly breakfasts with Bertie and Edna, she was even ready to love the stuffy and decorous Sundays she had once found so hateful. Her father was sitting by the open window, reading the paper, and she loved him too; because he looked just as he had always looked to her. She went over to him and kissed the top of his head. He glanced up and smiled.
“Well!” he said.
“Well!” she answered. “Are you happy? I am!”