"Yes," she said quickly. "Put it back. I thought that perhaps it was lost."
Annie had no sooner replaced the weapon in the drawer when the front door-bell rang. Laura turned pale and started to her feet. Could that be John? Instinctively, she gathered her negligée gown closer to her frail, trembling figure, and, hurrying to the mirror, put those little finishing touches to her hair which no woman, jealous of her personal appearance, would think of neglecting, even though the house was on fire. She was so unstrung and agitated that she could hardly stand; she had to hold the table with one hand to maintain her balance. She could not articulate; her voice stuck in her throat.
"See—who—that is—and let me know," she gasped.
"Yassum."
The maid went out into the private hall and opened the door. Immediately was heard the voice of Elfie St. Clair.
"Hello, Annie. Folks in?"
"Yassum; she's in."
Laura breathed more freely, and ran to greet her friend, who bounced in, smiling and good-natured. Elfie was beautifully gowned in a morning dress, with an over-abundance of trimmings and all the furbelows that generally accompany the extravagant raiment affected by women of her type. Advancing effusively, she exclaimed:
"Hello, dearie!"
"Hello, Elfie!" said Laura, unable to conceal how genuinely glad she was to see her friend.