The New Yorkers gasped in astonishment; even James, the butler, stood gaping with open mouth at a real live heroine—never seen before by him except on the movie screen. So intensely interested was he, that he failed to hear his master enter by the front door, followed by a gentleman. They both burst into the room and stood amazed.
Then Mr. Ashby apologised for the abrupt entrance: “Dalken and I were at the Club when we heard of the fire so near my place. And when Dalken heard that it was Mrs. Wellington’s school-girls who were entertaining on the third floor, he came with me to see if his daughter is safe. Does anyone know where Elizabeth is?”
“Here—right here, Mr. Dalken,” Mrs. Ashby quickly assured the father. And she beckoned Mrs. Wellington to bring the girl from the alcove where she had been resting.
“My poor little girl!” quavered the father, taking the meek and broken-spirited Elizabeth in his arms. “Are you badly hurt?”
She began to cry softly against his coat collar but Mrs. Ashby reassured Mr. Dalken. “Only a scratch. Her forehead may swell a bit and be discolored for a few days, but that is all. Elizabeth owes her life to these two girls here, Mr. Dalken. One carried her out of the building after she had fainted, and the other went first and found a way down the back stairs.”
“Not really!” the amazed man gasped. “Tell me about it.”
But Polly was a poor narrator, so Anne decided to speak. She was bound that Polly should not belittle this deed as she had the climbing to the fourth floor of the burning building.
That Mr. Dalken was deeply moved, everyone could see, and when he shook hands with the two girls he said gravely, “I shall never forget how you kept me from being childless. My baby boy died three years ago to-night, and I could not have stood losing my little girl, too, on the anniversary of that sad experience.”
Elizabeth then remembered the date and hiding her face, ran back to the alcove to cry softly to herself. Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Wellington knew the sad story, so they allowed her to weep alone. But Mr. Dalken, tender-hearted, would have gone to comfort the girl, had not Mrs. Ashby placed a detaining hand upon his arm and said: “No, dear friend—better leave her to remember and realize everything.”
Polly and Eleanor saw and heard and could not understand, but they thought it was no concern of theirs, so they forgot it.