Just then the elevator clanged open and shut, and steps came down the hall. It certainly was not Aunt Crete. Luella flew to the door at the first tap; and there, submerged in a sheaf of American Beauty roses, stood the functionary from the lower floor, with a less pompous manner than he had worn before. The roses had caused his respect for the occupants of the fourth floor, back, to rise several degrees.
Luella stood speechless in wonder, looking first at the roses and then at the servant. Such roses had never come into her life before. Could it be—must it be—but a miserable mistake?
Then the servant spoke.
“Miss Ward sends de flowers, an’ is sorry de ladies ain’t well. She send her regrets, an’ says she can’t come to see de ladies ’count of a drive she’d promised to take to-day, in which she’d hoped to have de ladies’ comp’ny. She hopes de ladies be better dis even’n’.”
He was gone, and the mother and daughter faced each other over the roses, bewilderment and awe in their faces.
“What did he say, Luella? Who sent those roses? Miss Ward? Luella, there’s some mistake. Aunt Crete couldn’t have sent them. She wouldn’t dare! Besides, where would she get the money? It’s perfectly impossible. It can’t be Aunt Crete, after all. It must be some one else with the same name. Perhaps Donald has picked up some one here in the hotel; you can’t tell; or perhaps it isn’t our Donald at all. It’s likely there’s other Donald Grants in the world. What we ought to have done was to go down at once and find out, and not skulk in a corner. But you’re always in such a hurry to do something, Luella. There’s no telling at all who this is now. It might be those folks you admired so much, though what on earth they should have sent their cards to us for—and those lovely roses—I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Now, ma, you needn’t blame me. It was you proposed sending that note down; you know it was, mother; and of course I had to do what you said. I was so upset, anyway, I didn’t know what was what. But now, you see, perhaps you’ve cut me out of a lovely day. We might have gone on a ride with them.”
“Luella,” her mother broke in sharply, “if you talk another word like that, I’ll take the next train back home. You don’t know what you are talking about. It may be Aunt Crete, after all, and a country cousin for all you know; and, if it is, would you have wanted to go driving in the face of the whole hotel, with like as not some old shin-and-bones horse and a broken-down carriage?”
Luella was silenced for the time, and the room settled into gloomy meditation.