"They cut a bone out of her nose, that's all. Brandon says her heart is weak. They were afraid of the ether. She's all right, Carroll says."
"Goodness!" cried Mrs. Wrandall. One might have suspected a note of disappointment in her voice.
"I shall go up to see Sara this afternoon," said Vivian calmly. "What's the number of her new apartment?"
"YOU have been up to see her, of course," said Mrs. Wrandall acidly.
He fidgetted. "I didn't hear of her illness until yesterday."
"I'll go up with you, Viv," said Leslie.
"No, you won't," said his sister flatly. "I'm going to apologise to her for something I said to Brandon Booth. You needn't tag along, Les."
At half-past five in the afternoon, the Wrandall limousine stopped in front of the tall apartment building near the Park, a footman jerked open the door, and Miss Wrandall stepped out. At the same moment a telegraph messenger boy paused on the sidewalk to compute the artistic but puzzling numerals on the imposing grilled doors of the building.
Miss Wrandall had herself announced by the obsequious doorman, and stood by in patience to wait for the absurd rule of the house to be carried out: "No one could get in without being announced from below," said the doorman.
"I c'n get in all right, all right," said the messenger boy, "I got a tellygram for de loidy."