“Don’t,” said Harlan, again, awkwardly patting her hands, and deeply touched by the girl’s distress. “We are your friends. You can stay here just as well as not. I am married and——”
Upon his back, Harlan felt eyes. He turned quickly, and saw Dorothy standing in the door—quite a new Dorothy, indeed; very tall, and stately, and pale.
Through sheer nervousness, Mr. Carr laughed—an unfortunate, high-pitched laugh with no mirth in it. “Let me present my wife,” he said, sobering suddenly. “Mrs. Carr, Miss——”
Here he coughed, and the guest, rising, filled the pause. “I am Elaine St. Clair,” she explained, offering a white, tremulous hand which Dorothy did not seem to see. “It is very good of your husband to ask me to stay with you.”
“Very,” replied Dorothy, in a tone altogether new to her husband. “He is always doing lovely things for people. And now, Harlan, if you will show Miss St. Clair to her room, I will speak with Mrs. Smithers about luncheon, which should be nearly ready by this time.”
“Thunder,” said Harlan to himself, as Dorothy withdrew. “What in the devil do I know about ’her room’? Have you ever been here before?” he inquired of the guest.
“Never in my life,” answered Miss St. Clair, wiping her eyes.
“Well,” replied Harlan, confusedly, “just go on upstairs, then, and help yourself. There are plenty of rooms, and cribs to burn in every blamed one of ’em,” he added, savagely, remembering the look in Dorothy’s eyes.
“Thank you,” said Miss St. Clair, diffidently; “it is very kind of you to let me choose. Can some one bring my trunk up this afternoon?”
“I’ll attend to it,” replied her host, brusquely.