“Yes, she is—she’s sick, too.”
Virginia’s quick blush mounted. She felt peculiarly helpless. She was not even sure that Fanchon would see her, but she held out her card.
“Please ask her to see me—if she can,” she said, in a propitiating tone.
Mrs. Quantah wiped her fingers on her apron and took the card.
“Come in,” she said harshly, holding open the door.
Virginia followed her in. Involuntarily she gathered her white dress about her, the place seemed so dingy and repulsive. They passed through a forlorn hall and entered the kitchen. Sitting in a chair in the middle of the old room, with his back to the stove, was Mr. Samuel Bernstein. Virginia stopped involuntarily, and the woman, pulling out a chair for her, left them abruptly, carrying Virginia’s card in the empty saucepan.
Mr. Bernstein rose and bowed.
“Miss Denbigh, I think?” he said with elaborate politeness.
Virginia smiled.
“Mr. Bernstein, I know,” she replied quietly.