The ancient dam of the Fotherington Princess was in a serious way, but Dick would not have made the visit at such an hour, save that he wanted to be by himself and that he could not nerve himself for a chance moment alone with Paula so soon after what he had overseen in the patio.
Light steps in the gravel made him turn his head. Ernestine caught up with him and took his arm.
“Poor old Alden Bessie,” she explained. “I thought I’d go along.”
Dick, still acting up to his night’s rôle, recalled to her various funny incidents of the evening, and laughed and chuckled with reminiscent glee.
“Dick,” she said in the first pause, “you are in trouble.” She could feel him stiffen, and hurried on: “What can I do? You know you can depend on me. Tell me.”
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” he answered. “Just one thing.” She pressed his arm gratefully. “I’ll have a telegram sent you to-morrow. It will be urgent enough, though not too serious. You will just bundle up and depart with Lute.”
“Is that all?” she faltered.
“It will be a great favor.”
“You won’t talk with me?” she protested, quivering under the rebuff.
“I’ll have the telegram come so as to rout you out of bed. And now never mind Alden Bessie. You run a long in. Good night.”