“Mother,” she said, “let me introduce Doctor David Curtis,” she hesitated before adding, “Anne’s fiance.”
“I am very pleased to meet you.” Savoir faire was not Mrs. Hull’s strong point, and that she was ill at ease was as apparent to Curtis, sensitive of his surroundings, as it was to his companions. She shook his hand listlessly, then dropped it and pulled her evening cloak up about her shoulders.
“The taxi is at the door,” announced Colonel Hull. “Come, Claire.” But she lingered a moment to address Mrs. Meredith.
“When will John be buried?” she asked in an undertone.
“We will hold funeral services to-morrow morning in the chapel at Oak Hill,” responded Mrs. Meredith. “Only the family will be present. I thought Sam Hollister had told you of the arrangements; he has them in charge.”
“I haven’t seen Sam.” Mrs. Hull kissed Lucille warmly, and then shook hands with Curtis before she moved toward the front door. “Good night, doctor. Oh, Belle,” with a change of tone, “it does make me feel so badly to come here and not find John. He was so genial, so kind. Only the last time I talked with him about Julian’s career, he said I was my husband’s lodestar.”
Mrs. Meredith did not answer in words. After administering a cold kiss on Mrs. Hull’s flushed cheek, and with a wave of her hand to the Colonel, she turned back to Curtis, who stood waiting near the entrance to the library.
“Lodestar is good, only spell it ‘load’” she commented, caustically, but keeping her voice lowered so that it would not reach the Hulls. “John had quite a sense of humor.”
Curtis smiled. “Are you going upstairs, Mrs. Meredith?” he asked.
“Yes—and you?” pausing on the lower step.