"But Mrs. Meyerburg—"
"No, no. Right in you stay. 'Sh-h-h, just don't mention it. Enough pleasure you give me to ride by me. Take good care your foot. Good-by, Mrs. Fischlowitz. All the way home you should take her, James."
Once more within the gloom of her Tudor hall, Mrs. Meyerburg hurried rearward and toward the elevator. But down the curving stairway the small maid on stilts came, intercepting her.
"Madame!"
"Ja."
"Madame will please come. Mademoiselle Betty this afternoon ees not so well. Three spells of fainting, madame."
"Therese!"
"Oui, not serious, madame, but what I would call hysteeria and mademoiselle will not have doctor. Eef madame will come—"
With a great mustering of her strength Mrs. Meyerburg ran up the first three of the marble steps, then quite as suddenly stopped, reaching out for the balustrade. The seconds stalked past as she stood there, a fine frown sketched on her brow, and the small maid anxious and attendant.
"Madame?"