“Wha—what, in the name of Heaven, are you doing here, Harvey?” gasped Nellie.
“How are you, Nell? Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Serious?” she murmured, swallowing hard, her wits in the wind.
“Ain’t you ill?”
“Never was better in my life,” she cried, seeing what she thought was light. “Who brought you to town with such a tale as that? 64 I’m fine. You’ve been fooled. If I were you, I’d take the first train out and try to find out who––”
“It’s all right, Butler,” he called out. “Come right in. Hello! Where are you?” He stepped to the door and looked out. Mr. Butler was being conducted toward the stage door by the burly stage hand. He was trying to expostulate. “Hi! What you doing?” shouted Harvey, darting after them. “Let my friend alone!”
Up came Ripton in haste.
“O’Brien, what do you mean? Take your hand off that gentleman’s shoulder at once. He is a friend of Mr.—Mr.—ahem! A terrible mistake, sir.”
Then followed a moment of explanation, apology, and introduction, after which Harvey fairly dragged his exasperated friend back to Nellie’s room.
She was still standing in the middle of the room trying to collect her wits.