“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Zoie cried through her tears to her neat little maid servant, then reaching for her chatelaine, she daubed her small nose and flushed cheeks with powder, after which she nodded to Mary to open the door.
To Jimmy, the maid's pert “good-morning” seemed to be in very bad taste and to properly reprove her he assumed a grave, dignified air out of which he was promptly startled by Zoie's even more unseemly greeting.
“Hello, Jimmy!” she snapped. Her tone was certainly not that of a heart-broken widow. “It's TIME you got here,” she added with an injured air.
Jimmy gazed at Zoie in astonishment. She was never what he would have called a sympathetic woman, but really——!
“I came the moment you 'phoned me,” he stammered; “what is it? What's the matter?”
“It's awful,” sniffled Zoie. And she tore up and down the room regardless of the fact that Jimmy was still unseated.
“Awful what?” questioned Jimmy.
“Worst I've ever had,” sobbed Zoie.
“Is anything wrong with Alfred?” ventured Jimmy. And he braced himself for her answer.
“He's gone,” sobbed Zoie.