“Miss McNair,” she said in a low tone. “There is a lady in the drawing room, a veiled person, and she is asking for Mr. Wilson.”
“Can you not find him?” I asked. “He is in the house, probably in the studio.”
The girl hesitated.
“Excuse me, miss, but Miss Caruthers—”
Then I saw the situation.
“Never mind,” I said. “Close the door into the drawing room, and I will tell Mr. Wilson.”
But as the girl turned toward the doorway, the person in question appeared in it, and raised her veil. I was perfectly paralyzed. It was Bella! Bella in a fur coat and a veil, with the most tragic eyes I ever saw and entirely white except for a dab of rouge in the middle of each cheek. We stared at each other without speech. The maid turned and went down the hall, and with that Bella came over to me and clutched me by the arm.
“Who was being carried out into that ambulance?” she demanded, glaring at me with the most awful intensity.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Bella,” I said, wriggling away from her fingers. “What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were in Europe.”
“You are hiding something from me!” she accused. “It is Jim! I see it in your face.”