In the kitchen below a sizzling noise called Mary to the oven. The roast needed basting again. It was too brown already, but she couldn’t take it off and let it get cold. The potatoes had cracked open and their jackets were done to a crisp. She turned the flame as low as she dared and faced about to see Dale and the girls standing in the doorway.
“Getting hungry?” she asked.
“A little. Irene ought to be here by now.”
“I know it,” the housekeeper replied, “and the dinner will be spoiled if we let it wait much longer.”
CHAPTER XIII
WAITING
Eight o’clock came and still no Irene. By nine o’clock Judy was in tears. She felt that something dreadful must have happened and suggested calling up hospitals to see if there had been any accidents. After the calls were completed Dale returned to the kitchen and stood looking at the dinner.
“You might as well eat some of the chicken,” Mary suggested. She placed it on a platter and carried it up to the roof garden, but they ate only a little, cut from underneath where it wouldn’t show. Then they left the table as it was, waiting for Irene.
The yellow candles burned lower and lower. Finally they flickered and went out. Pauline gave a little start, but Judy sank back in her chair shaking with sobs.