"Party on the wire? What's this?" said mamma.
Carlisle laid her napkin on the table. Surprise confronted her, written large on the faces of her mother and her lover; but it did not arrest her.
"I'm wanted at the telephone. Do you mind, Hugo? I won't he gone a minute."
"But--you mustn't go now, my dear!" said Mrs. Heth, astonished. "Let the boy take the number. Why--who on earth could it be, calling you here?--"
"I'd rather go now, mamma, if Hugo'll forgive me--"
"It's from Flora!" said Mrs. Heth, positively. "No one else knew. A telegram's come, saying your father is sick--"
Carlisle laughed and rose dazzingly, burning without but colder than Alpine snow within.
"Not in the least, mamma dear! You see I put in this call myself. I'll explain all about it in a minute...."
Explain! Why she would walk back to this table from the telephone, laughing, and saying: "Now, praise me, Hugo and mamma, for I've just been doing a deed of mercy! Do you remember that day at the Beach?..." Was it the fear of this that she had let plague her all these days?...
"To be answered here--at dinner--in this public place? Why, my dear Cally, I really...."