"Indeed I will," said she, abruptly. "The musicale, indeed! Humph!" And she plumped herself down in one of the drawing-room chairs so hard that it was as much as I could do to keep from showing some very unbutlerian concern for the safety of the furniture.
I must say I did not envy Henriette the meeting that was in prospect, for it was quite evident that Mrs. Shadd was mad all through. In spite of my stupidity I rather thought I could divine the cause too. She was not kept long in waiting, for ten minutes later the automobile, with Henriette in it, came thundering up the drive. I tried as I let her in to give her a hint of what awaited her, but Mrs. Shadd forestalled me, only however to be forestalled herself.
"Oh, my dear Pauline!" Henriette cried, as she espied her waiting visitor. "It is so good of you to come over. I'm pretty well fagged out with all the arrangements for the night and I do hope your son is better."
"My son is not ill, Mrs. Van Raffles," said Mrs. Shadd, coldly. "I have come to ask you what—"
"Not ill?" cried Henriette, interrupting her. "Not ill, Pauline? Why,"—breathlessly—"that's the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. Why am I giving the musicale to-night then, instead of you?"
"That is precisely what I have come to find out," said Mrs. Shadd.
"Why—well, of all queer things," said Henriette, flopping down in a chair. "Surely, you got my note saying that I would let Jockobinski play here to-night instead of—"
"I did receive a very peculiar note from you saying that you would gladly do as I wished," said Mrs. Shadd, beginning herself to look less angry and more puzzled.
"In reply to your note of Wednesday evening," said Henriette. "Certainly you wrote to me Wednesday evening? It was delivered by your own man, Blunderby I think his name is? About half-past seven o'clock it was—Wednesday."
"Yes, Bunderby did carry a note to you from me on Wednesday," said Mrs. Shadd. "But—"