But the staid butler, when he entered the library, did not announce the lawyer’s name.
“Mrs. Corcoran Dunn and Mr. Malcolm,” he said. “Will you see them, Miss Caroline?”
The young lady’s face lit up.
“Certainly, Edwards,” she said. “Show them—Oh, Mrs. Dunn, I’m so glad to see you! It was ever so good of you to come. And Malcolm.”
Mrs. M. Corcoran Dunn was tall and, in South Denboro, would have been called “fleshy,” in spite of her own and the dressmaker’s efforts to conceal the fact. She was elaborately gowned and furred, and something about her creaked when she walked. She rushed into the room, at the butler’s heels, and, greeting Caroline with outstretched hands, kissed her effusively on the cheek.
“My dear child,” she cried, “how could I stay away? We have spoken of you and Stephen so often this morning. We know how lonely you must be, and Malcolm and I decided we must run in on you after lunch. Didn’t we, Malcolm?”
Mr. Malcolm Corcoran Dunn, her son, was a blond young man, with a rather indolent manner.
“Sure, Mater!” he said, calmly. “How d’ye do, Caroline? ’Lo, Steve!”
The quartette shook hands. Mrs. Dunn sank creakingly into a chair and gazed about the room. Malcolm strolled to the window and looked out. Stephen followed and stood beside him.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Dunn, addressing Caroline, “how are you getting on? How are your nerves? Is all the dreadful ‘settling’ over?”