"Are you Mrs. Kenworthy?" he asked, suavely.
She said she was.
"Will you step this way, please?"
She hadn't time to ask why. He had come out from behind the counter-like desk and was showing her the way—a few steps down a passage.
"Just here," he was saying. "The manager wants to speak to you."
And he threw open a door into a lighted office, and said, "This is Mrs. Kenworthy," and went out, and closed the door behind him.
Emily, wondering mildly, saw in a glance a sort of office; a room in which, perhaps temporarily, a good deal of extra furniture was crowded—several easy chairs pushed close together, beyond a long bare oak table, with shaded desk lamps. Three men were standing there, by the table, the shadow of the lamp-shade hiding their faces.
"Are you Mrs. Kenworthy?" one of them asked her.
"Yes," she said. She didn't like this.
"Has your daughter a dog?"