Captain Elisha looked distressed. “Thank you, ma’am,” he stammered; “it’s awful kind of you, but I wouldn’t feel right to go puttin’ you to all that trouble. Just as much obliged, but I—I’ve got a letter to write, you see.”
Mrs. Dunn bore his refusal bravely.
“Very well,” she said, “but Caroline must come with me. I told Malcolm I should bring her.”
“Sure! Sartin! Caroline can go, of course.”
But Caroline also declined. Having misjudged her guardian in the matter of the Moriarty family, she was in a repentant mood, and had marked that day on her calendar as one of self-sacrifice.
“No, Captain Warren,” she said, “I shall not go unless you do.”
“Then the captain will come, of course,” declared Mrs. Dunn, with decision. “I’m sure he will not be so selfish as to deprive me—and Malcolm—of your company.”
So, because he did not wish to appear selfish, Captain Elisha admitted that his letter might be written later in the afternoon, accepted the invitation, and braced his spirit for further martyrdom.
It was not as bad as he expected. The Dunns occupied a small, brown-stone house on Fifth Avenue, somewhat old-fashioned, but eminently respectable. The paintings and bronzes were as numerous as those in the Warren apartment, and if the taste shown in their selection was not that of Rodgers Warren, the connoisseur, they made quite as much show, and the effect upon Captain Elisha was the same. The various mortgages on the property were not visible, and the tradesmen’s bills were securely locked in Mrs. Dunn’s desk.
The luncheon itself was elaborate, and there was a butler whose majestic dignity and importance made even Edwards seem plebeian by comparison.