Helmar puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. “It does look that way,” he assented, then, after a little pause, he asked abruptly, “Arthur, how about Jack and Marjory? Was it just a coincidence they didn’t come to-night, or was it something more than that? I don’t believe they’re hitting things off, somehow. And Jack himself—I never saw a fellow so changed. Ever since that time he was out at The Birches he has seemed awfully down on his luck. I was wondering—”
Vaughan rose quickly. “Oh, he’s worried about his business, I think that’s all.” Then added abruptly, “Would you mind smoking in the other room, Franz? Rose doesn’t object, and I hate to leave her alone.”
Helmar rose also. “Of course not,” he said, “why didn’t you say so sooner? Let’s go right in.”
Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton’s valet approached them, a letter in his outstretched hand. “For you, Mr. Vaughan,” he said.
Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. “H’m,” he muttered, “that’s queer,” and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancée. “Rose,” he said, “I’m sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated. First our guests disappoint us, and now I’m called away myself. But only for an hour. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”
The girl’s face clouded. “Oh, no, Arthur,” she cried, “not to-night. You oughtn’t to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait—”
He broke in upon her. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said gravely, “but this is something that can’t be delayed. I must go at once.”
There was no misunderstanding his tone. “All right, then, Arthur,” she said, “but be back as soon as you can,” and nodding, he left the room.
The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches and Colonel Graham’s home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing unusual in the situation. “I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur,” she said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and took his seat.
The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman’s hand in hers. “Tell him, Jeanne,” she said.