"I'm afraid," Amy hesitated, "that I don't know any one of that name."
Apparently the meal had come to a full stop. "Why," Hildegarde cried, "the Isabel Vincent who attended the Pelham school when I was there."
She was so insistent that Amy unconsciously became apologetic. "I'm sorry but I can't say I remember such a girl. Did she ever say she had met me?"
"Why," Hildegarde almost screamed, "didn't you ask us here to-night to meet her?"
"To meet Isabel Vincent! Why, I never heard of her."
"There's some mistake," exclaimed Robert. He had just helped himself to a fifth baking-powder biscuit, but he laid it down unbuttered. "You've made some mistake," he informed his sister.
Hildegarde ignored him and addressed herself to Amy. "Didn't you telephone me this morning?"
"I—why, to tell the truth, no I didn't."
"Then it was a disgusting practical joke. Some one called me up about eleven o'clock and said she was Amy Lassell, and that Isabel Vincent was to stop here twenty-four hours on her way to New York from her home in Chicago. And then she invited Bob and me to dinner to meet Isabel. There wasn't anything in her manner to give me an idea it was a hoax."