“What is it?” asked Mrs. Davies, in a tone distinctly chill. She had a premonition that Jim Sargent had done something foolish. He seemed so pleased.
“Gail won’t be home,” he announced carelessly, starting for the stairs. “She’s dining with Allison at some roadhouse.”
“Unchaperoned!” gasped Mrs. Davies.
“She’s all right, Helen,” remarked Jim, starting upstairs. “Allison’s a fine fellow.”
“But what will he think of Gail!” protested Helen. “That sort of unconventionality has gone clear out. Jim, you’ll have to get back that number!”
“Sorry,” regretted Jim. “Can’t do it. Against the telephone rules,” and he went on upstairs, positively humming!
The two ladies looked at each other, and sat down in the valley of the shadows of gloom. There was nothing to be done! Mrs. Davies, however, was different from her sister. Grace Sargent was an accomplished worrier, who could remain numb in the exercise of her art, but Helen Davies was a woman of action. She presently called her daughter.
“Have you started your dinner, Lucile?” she demanded.
“No, Ted just came home,” reported Lucile. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t let him take time to dress,” urged her mother. “You must go right out and chaperon Gail.”