"You don't know her, dear?" she said gently, putting the card before her.
"Yes—I do. That's what—fazed me," gasped Elsie. "It's my—stepmother. I'm afraid something awful has happened."
Now Miss Pritchard was white, too.
"My child, are you out of your head?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about? You never had a stepmother. You couldn't have."
Then she half smiled.
"Oh, Elsie!" she cried reproachfully, "it's some of your stage friends come to see you. How you startled me! I'll settle with you later for that and give you a good scolding, but I won't stop now. Will you have her up here or down in the parlor?"
"Please, let's have her up here," said the white-faced girl in the same strained tone. "There's nothing to do now but go through with it. It serves me just right. But——"
Without understanding, her heart beating strangely, Miss Pritchard asked that Mrs. Moss be brought up.
They waited in silence. Presently the caller was ushered in, a slender woman clad in black, with a young-looking, sad face. Seeing Elsie, she too became very white. But the girl rushed upon her, flung her arms about her, and hid her face on her shoulder. And the stranger clasped her close.
Miss Pritchard stared in amazement. She hadn't known of any warm friend of Elsie's except the young girl in Enderby; but this was unmistakably an affection of long standing. For a moment she stood stock-still. Then somehow she got them both over to the sofa, relieved Mrs. Moss of her wraps, and sat down near.