“No, he’s a New Family; rotten with money, so he gets and does anything he wants to. Glad to have seen you, even for a little while.”
Roberta took the card, then hurried to the elevator and presently came to her own room. The connecting door was open, so she went in immediately and found Mrs. Pollzoff in negligee, the wound on her chin covered with adhesive tape. A waiter had left a tray a few moments before and the woman was preparing to eat her breakfast.
“Did you have a good night?” she asked politely.
“Very pleasant,” Roberta answered. “I met an old friend, Robert Powell, and his sisters at dinner and they took me to a theatrical at Mr. Anthony’s home.”
“Then you were not bored with Charleston. I do not care for the place and rarely go out. The people seem to me excessively stupid, and the city, most of it, antiquated. Did you have breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“The maid said you had gone down, so I ordered only one. I had a wretched night, thought I should never get to sleep, but when I did I made up for it by not waking until fifteen minutes ago,” Mrs. Pollzoff said and her statements startled the girl.
Roberta wondered if the woman was claiming that she had not left the room since they parted the evening before, but she refrained from saying anything more about the theatricals. She was absolutely convinced that it could have been no one else who was standing beside Mr. Anthony as he received his guests, and she was also convinced that her employer had been up that morning before she herself was awake. Why the woman should deliberately lie over anything so trivial made Roberta recall Powell’s warning to watch her step, and, casting logic aside, she determined to pay heed to what he had said.
“I am sorry you did not have a more comfortable night,” she replied, then added, “The page said you wanted me.”
“Yes. I wanted to be sure that you had breakfasted and to tell you that we will leave here about one o’clock, so have your lunch before you go, and if you want to do any errands, you can,” Mrs. Pollzoff said.