“Why—what do you mean?” asked Mrs. Fabian, wonderingly.
“Mrs. Courtney! She’ll be ten minutes later than this unit,” replied Eleanor.
“How do you know that?” asked Nancy.
“Just before we left the office she called us on the telephone to ask if we had decided upon a plan for our cruise, and we replied that we had it all outlined. Then she told us she might be detained downtown where she was then, and that we were to tell Mr. Dalken not to wait dinner for her. She would come in as soon as she could, but even at that she might be half an hour after the time he mentioned in his note to her.”
As Mr. Dalken’s bachelor apartment was but a short drive from the Fabian’s residence, the chauffeur soon stopped before the door and the girls prepared to get out. A few minutes later they were being welcomed by their smiling host. Then he scolded.
“Late as usual! Not that I would include Mr. Fabian in that rebuke, because a man is never late—especially when it is a dinner. But the ladies! Ah me! So many valuable hours wasted before a mirror, and who for—tell me that! For a number of old fogies like Ashby, Fabian and myself.”
But the ladies laughed his scolding to silence. They knew their host! He was the pink of neatness himself, and he always noticed the gowns and general appearances of his lady guests.
“Who’s coming to-night, Dalky?” asked Polly, not waiting to answer his rebuke about being late.
“Oh, the Ashbys are already here; then there will be Mrs. Courtney, who will be late, of course, and my daughter Elizabeth. She ought to have been here before this.”
As he spoke he threw open the door of the guestroom and ushered his friends in; but taking Mr. Fabian by the arm to show him into his own suite of rooms.