"Good! I'd like to see him!" said the voice of a man. "Upstairs?"
Dorothy turned to Garrison with her face as white as chalk.
"Oh, if you had only gone!" she said.
"What's the trouble?" he asked. "Who's come?"
"Perhaps you can slip in my room!" she whispered. "Please hurry!"
She hastened across the apartment to a door, with Garrison following. The door was locked. She remembered she had locked it herself, from the farther side, since the advent of her uncle in the house.
She turned to lead him round, by the hall. But the door swung open abruptly, and a tall, handsome young man was at the threshold. His hat was on. He was dressed, despite the season, in an overcoat of extraordinary length, buttoned close round his neck. It concealed him from his chin to his heels.
"Why, hello, Dot!" he said familiarly, advancing within the room. "You and your Jerold weren't trying to run away, I hope."
Dorothy struggled against her confusion and alarm.
"Why, no," she faltered. "Cousin Ted, you've never met Mr. Fairfax.
Jerold, this is my cousin, Mr. Theodore Robinson."