Before Mrs. Levice could demur, Ruth had left the room. As she turned in the direction of the stairs, she was rather startled by a hand laid upon her shoulder.
“Oh, you, Louis! I am going for our wraps.”
“Here they are. How is my aunt?”
“She is quite herself again. Thanks for the wraps. Will you call up the carriage, Louis? We shall go immediately, but do not think of coming yourself.”
“Nonsense! Tell your mother you have made your adieux to Mrs. Merrill,—she understands; the carriage is waiting.”
A few minutes later the Levices and Louis Arnold quietly stole away. Mrs. Levice has had an attack of hysteria. “Nothing at all,” the world said, and dismissed it as carelessly as most of the quiet turning-points in a life-history are dismissed.
Chapter III
The Levices’ house stood well back upon its grounds, almost with an air of reserve in comparison with the rows of stately, bay-windowed houses that faced it and hedged it in on both sides. But the broad, sweeping lawns, the confusion of exquisite roses and heliotropes, the open path to the veranda, whereon stood an hospitable garden settee and chair, the long French windows open this summer’s morning to sun and air, told an inviting tale.
As Dr. Kemp ascended the few steps leading to the front door, he looked around approvingly.