"Yes, I'm sorry I'm so late," Smith broke in hastily. "We were caught in a mist. I shan't be ten minutes changing."
He ran up the stairs, and before going to his room put his head in at the door of his sister's.
"You there, Kate? You didn't get my telegram, then? Come to my room in ten minutes, will you? I want to see you particularly before dinner."
With a seaman's quickness he was bathed and dressed within the time he had named.
"Come in," he said, as his sister tapped. "You've got a pretty cool head, Sis; look at this, quickly."
He handed her the evening paper, pointing out the fateful paragraph. Kate went a little pale as she read it; her bosom heaved, but she said nothing.
"It must be kept from Mother," he said. "Get hold of to-morrow's paper, and if the paragraph is there, cut it out or tear off the page."
"But people will write, or call. They are sure to speak of it."
"That's your chance. Intercept 'em. You always read the Mater's letters to her, don't you? Keep the servants' mouths shut. And I want you to write for me to all those people and cry off; pressing business—any excuse you like."
"But you, Charley?"