Theydon was about to unlock the door of his flat when it opened in his face, and his sister nearly collided with him. She screamed slightly, a certain quality of alarm in her exclamation merging instantly into joyful recognition.
"So you have come home!" she cried. "My goodness! What a fright you've given me!"
"Why?" he said, with a reassuring and brotherly hug.
"I've had horrid dreams. I couldn't rest all last night for thinking of you."
"Is George absent?" George was her husband, a consulting engineer, whose professional duties often took him to distant parts of the country.
"Yes."
"Then you and Miss Beale have been living on tea and scraps. Really, Mollie, I credited you with more sense. Tell me what you ate last night, and I'll diagnose your dreams."
"We dined at a first-class restaurant in the West End," said Mrs. Paxton indignantly. "It would be much more to the point if you explained how you have been living the past few days. I have not been so worried about anything since George was trapped in that horrid mine."
Mollie was on the verge of tears. Her brother resolved instantly to minimize matters, or she would fret more than ever on his account.
"Now, look here, old girl," he said, meeting her critical glance steadily. "Miss Beale has been putting absurd notions into that stylish little head of yours. By the way, is that the latest thing in hats? It suits you admirably."