“You’re late, child,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, not turning, for as Katharine entered, she could see her reflection in the mirror. “Are you going to take Jane with you? If not, I wish you’d tell her to come here, as you go down—I let you have her because I knew you’d be late.”
“No,” answered Katharine, “I don’t want her—she’s only in the way. It’s the Van De Waters’, you know. Good night, mother.”
“Good night, darling—enjoy yourself—you’ll be late, of course—they’ll dance, or something.”
“Yes—but I shan’t stay. I’m tired. Good night again.”
Katharine was going to the door, when her father appeared from his dressing-room, serenely correct, as usual, but wearing his black tie because no one was coming to dinner.
“I want to speak to you, Katharine,” he said.
She turned and stood still in the middle of the room, facing him. He had a letter in his hand.
“Yes, papa,” she answered quietly, not anticipating trouble.
“I’m sorry I could not see you earlier,” said Alexander Junior, coming forward and fixing his steely eyes on his daughter’s face. “But I hadn’t an opportunity, because I was told that you were asleep when I came home. This morning, as I was leaving the house as usual, a messenger put this letter into my hands. It has a special delivery stamp on it, and you will see that the mark on the dial edge stands at eight forty-five A.M. Consequently, the boy who brought it was dilatory in doing his duty. It is addressed to you in John Ralston’s handwriting.”
“Why didn’t you send it up to me, instead of keeping it all day?” enquired Katharine, with cold surprise.