Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious regret.
"Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver, please."
Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment. Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver.
"Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about the ankle and clad in a soft slipper.
Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well—er—"
"I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs. Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her face.
Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you." He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I—"
Mrs. Davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an inquisitive glance. "Will you show me to my room?" she asked.
"I don't know where it is," he said, laughing. By this time his ruffled dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in Mrs. Davis's eye and the deep dimple in her chin.
"Why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as yet refusing to grasp the situation.