“From your pictures.”
“Well, keep the secret awhile longer,” he said. “I have been getting over an—er—accident I was in not long ago, and staying here quietly with Virginia and Edward.”
The only living soul they could see as they approached Virginia’s home was old Mammy who was running up and down the front gallery like a distracted creature, lifting up her voice in wails and lamentations. One wing of the house had entirely burned down and the flames had leapt over the main roof and were making rapid headway.
“Bress de Lord, oh my soul,” she cried when she saw the automobile full of people come up to the front door.
Mr. Donahue was the first to jump out.
“Is your mistress in her room, Mammy?”
“Yes, Marsa, yes, sir. I cyan’t move her a step,” wailed the poor old woman.
“Where’s Miss Virginia?”
“A lady don’ sen’ fur her to come to the hotel quick. She’s been gone an hour.”
“Where’s Uncle Peter?”