In some manner or other Florence became separated from Susan. She hunted through aisle after aisle, but could not find her; for the simple reason that Susan was hunting for her. It occurred to the girl that Susan might have wisely concluded the best place to wait would be in the taxicab. And so Florence hurried out into the street, into the arms of the Wendt family, who were patiently awaiting her.
The trusted chauffeur had been sent around to the side entrance by the major domo. The young lady had so requested, so he said.
Florence struggled and called for the policeman, who came running up, followed by the usual idle, curious crowd.
"The poor young woman is insane," said the motherly Kate, tears in her eyes. The benign Thomas looked at heaven. "We are her keepers."
"It is not true," cried Florence desperately.
"She has the hallucination that she is the daughter of the millionaire Stanley Hargreave." And Thomas exhibited his document, which was perfectly legal, so far as appearances went.
"Hurry up and get her off the walk. I can't have the crowd growing any larger," said the policeman, convinced.
So, despite her cries and protestations, Florence was hustled into the automobile, even the policeman lending a hand.
"Poor young thing!" he said to the crowd. "Come now, move on. I can't have the walk blocked up. Get a gait on you."
He was congratulating himself upon the orderliness of the affair when a keen-eyed young man in the garb of a chauffeur touched his shoulder.