“Oh, cheer up, everybody!” said Zaliska, helping herself to a chair. “My machine’s gone back to town; but I only brought a suitcase, so I can’t stay forever. By the way, you might bring it in, Harold,” she remarked to Coningsby with a yawn.
Mrs. Banning alone seemed willing to cope with her.
“If you are as French as you look, mademoiselle, I suppose——”
“French, ha! Not to say aha! I sound like a toothpaste all right, but I was born in good old Urbana, Ohio. Your face registers sorrow and distress, madam. Kindly smile, if you please!”
“No impertinence, young woman! It may interest you to know that the courts haven’t yet freed me of the ties that bind me to Tracy Banning, and until I get my decree he is still my husband. If that has entered into your frivolous head kindly tell me who invited you to this house.”
The girl pouted, opened her vanity box, and slowly drew out a crumpled bit of yellow paper, which she extended toward her inquisitor with the tips of her fingers.
“This message,” Mrs. Banning announced, “was sent from Berkville Tuesday night.” And then her face paled. “Incredible!” she breathed heavily.
Gadsby caught the telegram as it fluttered from her hand.
“Read it!” commanded Miss Collingwood.
“Mademoiselle Helene Zaliska,
New Rochelle, N. Y.