The girl was bewildered. "You are so strange. I don't understand—"
"We have but two or three miles to go," interrupted Mrs. Wrandall. "We must think hard and—rapidly. Are you willing to come with me to my hotel? You will be safe there for the present. To-morrow we can plan something for the future."
"If I can only find a place to rest for a little while," began the other.
"I shall be busy all day, you will not be disturbed. But leave the rest to me. I shall find a way."
It was nearly three o'clock when she brought the car to a stop in front of a small, exclusive hotel not far from Central Park. The street was dark and the vestibule was but dimly lighted. No attendant was in sight.
"Slip into this," commanded Mrs. Wrandall, beginning to divest herself of her own fur coat. "It will cover your muddy garments. I am quite warmly dressed. Don't worry. Be quick. For the time being you are my guest here. You will not be questioned. No one need know who you are. It will not matter if you look distressed. You have just heard of the dreadful thing that has happened to me. You—"
"Happened to you?" cried the girl, drawing the coat about her.
"A member of my family has died. They know it in the hotel by this time. I was called to the death bed—to-night. That is all you will have to know."
"Oh, I am sorry—"
"Come, let us go in. When we reach my rooms, you may order food and drink. You must do it, not I. Please try to remember that it is I who am suffering, not you."