"Mr. Bartlett's mother was taken ill suddenly. Mr. Bartlett is with her. She is begging to see the little Suzanna."
"Come in," said Mrs. Procter, flinging the door wide. And as they entered and stood all three in the hall, the dog feeling himself now in his new character as welcome as his human companions, she finished: "Suzanna's asleep."
"My father wished greatly you would allow Suzanna to go to my grandmother, though it is late," put in Graham.
"Could she be awakened?" asked David. And by the expression in his eyes Mrs. Procter understood that this wish of Drusilla's should not be denied.
The dog, feeling entreaty in the air, sat down and raised his voice. It was a penetrative voice, too, filling the house with its echoes, echoes that scarcely died away before a soft call came:
"Mother—mother—"
Mrs. Procter smiled at David. "There, Suzanna is awake. Jerry accomplished what he wished. I'll go upstairs and dress her quickly."
So it was that the little girl flushed, starry-eyed, appeared with her mother a little later. Her dramatic senses were alert. "Isn't it lovely and important," she began at once to David, "that Drusilla wants to see me when it's away into the night?"
"Very important," said David, but he did not smile. "Are you quite ready now?"
"Yes," said Suzanna and slipped her hand within Graham's. "Are you going too, Graham?"