“Is Miss Lucille at home?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Then run along and ask her to come out here,” directed Mrs. Hull. “And, Gretchen, you need not mention to Mrs. Meredith that I am calling upon my daughter.”
Gretchen was saved a trip to Lucille’s bedroom, for she met her at the foot of the circular staircase. Her shoes were dusty, as from walking, and Gretchen concluded that she must have entered only a moment before by the front door. A second more and Lucille was with her mother on the veranda.
“Gretchen must wear Mercury wings,” said Mrs. Hull, after kissing her warmly. “I just saw Damason crossing the garden and mistook him for Fernando, and Gretchen nearly blushed her head off when I called her attention to him.”
Lucille’s pale, set face relaxed into a sunny smile. “That is a budding romance,” she explained. “We are all wondering which brother Gretchen will marry.”
“It must be very uncomfortable to be courted by a twin.” Mrs. Hull swung her chair with ponderous grace toward the one her daughter was occupying close at hand. “I hope Gretchen makes a wise choice.” Then in an altered voice: “Why are you remaining here?”
“Because it is best.” Lucille was careful to speak low. “Have you seen father?”
“No, not since breakfast. Why?” And there was unmistakable anxiety in Mrs. Hull’s usually expressionless voice.
“He was here just after luncheon and made a most unfortunate scene—”