“When I found you had taken your money, your fur coat money—”
“I needed it for—the sick friend.”
“Was it—was it—for—that poor wretched little woman, Margaret Gorman?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. She has been so sick and she dragged herself here, and I promised—”
“But she’ll be all right again soon,” broke in Gloria. “We took her—that is we sent her to Marie Hospital this afternoon.”
A perfect flood of relief swept over the face of Harriet Towers. Surely the weight of her anxiety had been hard to bear.
“You must come out,” insisted the officious Martha. “The doctor ordered quiet and you can’t call this—’’
“He couldn’t have ordered miracles,” spoke up the Aunt Hattie, “but they came, just the same. Glory, come over here and kiss me.”
Gloria did, fondly and gently.