“No, Miss, Dr. and Mrs. Ridgely haven’t come yet.”
A clock on the mantle began striking the half hour as Grace left the room. She went down slowly with a curious sense of being an unbidden guest in a strange house.
From the stair she caught a glimpse of a man in evening dress in the room below. She had attended few functions in her life where men wore evening dress and the staring expanse of shirt front intensified her sense of breathing an alien atmosphere.
As she stood in the drawing room doorway the figures within dimmed and she put out her hand to steady herself. Then the wavering mists that blurred her vision cleared as Miss Reynolds came quickly forward and caught her hands.
“My dear child, I didn’t hear you come down! I’m glad to see you,—even relieved!” she added in a whisper. “How perfectly adorable you are!” Grace had not dared lift her eyes to the group of guests who stood across the room talking animatedly, and as Miss Reynolds, with her arm about Grace’s waist, moved toward them she was arrested by a young man who had just entered and stood waiting to present himself.
“Oh, Mr. Atwood! Miss Durland, Mr. Atwood.” Jimmie Atwood put out his hand, smiling joyfully.
“Good luck, I call this! It’s perfectly bully to meet you again, Miss Durland.”
“You two are acquainted?” Miss Reynolds exclaimed delightedly. “That’s splendid, for you’re to take Miss Durland in.”
“Mr. Atwood’s equal to the most difficult situations,” said Grace, meeting his eyes, which were responding to the mirth in her own as both recalled the night they had met at McGovern’s.
“Ah! You have a secret of some kind!” said Miss Reynolds. “Far be it from me to intrude but you’ve got to meet the other guests.”