It was Reginald Brookes who sent a carriage for Marion on the day that she was allowed to leave the Chambers St. Hospital to return for a few days to the little flat in Harlem.
Through some mysterious medium he had heard of Mr. Ray and was determined if possible to outdo his rival in kind attentions to Marion.
“I’ll never stoop to anything but a fair fight,” he said to his mother, “and as this Mr. Ray is a gentleman, I have no doubt but that he is honorable. She must choose between us; when she does I shall be satisfied.”
“You are as noble as you are sensible, my son,” was his mother’s fond answer, “and Miss Marlowe is not the girl, I am sure, to be fickle in her decision.”
When Dr. Brookes reached the little flat to welcome Marion back from the hospital, he found Dollie and Miss Allyn much worried.
“Marion should have been here at five o’clock,” said Dollie, half crying. “Miss Allyn telephoned and learned that she left the hospital at four, and now just look, it is nearly seven!”
“Something must have happened!” said Miss Allyn, soberly, “but how shall we find out, that is the question, doctor?”
Dr. Brookes paced the floor in the greatest consternation. He looked at his watch repeatedly, and seemed to be figuring something.
Suddenly a sharp ring of the bell made their hearts beat wildly. Dollie rushed out in the hall and came face to face with Bert Jackson.
“You are all scared to death about Marion, aren’t you?” he began, abruptly; “well, you needn’t worry, she’ll probably be here in a minute! There was a drunken woman fighting in the street down town and of course Marion had to stop and take a hand in the scrimmage. Oh! I don’t mean that she did any of the scrapping!” he explained as he saw their astonished faces, “but she just put a stop to the row and then hauled that woman into her cab and took her to her home, and that’s what has detained her!”