“Oh, yes, Miss Deane, your name is engraved in full on a black-edged card. Good afternoon.” And he rang off.
A black-edged visiting-card? Vera sat clinging to the telephone receiver in bewilderment—it had been fully five years since she had had a black-edged visiting-card! Suddenly her ear detected the click of a receiver being hung up, and the faintness of the sound aroused her. Who had been listening in on the branch telephone in Mrs. Porter’s boudoir?
Vera went straight to the boudoir, but before she reached it Millicent walking down the hall paused in the act of entering her own room and called her name softly.
“Mother is lying down,” she said as Vera drew nearer. “Dorothy and I have just left the boudoir. Come and join us in my room.” And she held out her hand with a little affectionate gesture which was characteristic of her. Vera smiled, and under sudden impulse kissed her; there was something very winsome about Millicent, mere child as she was.
“Thanks, Millicent, I’ll come and sit with you later; but first I must take my ‘constitutional’—I haven’t had a walk for several days, and I need the fresh air.”
Millicent stroked her cheek with tender fingers. “Perhaps the wind will put color there,” she said. “You are not getting proper rest, Vera; for your pallor and heavy eyes tell the story.”
Vera shook her head in dissent. “I only need fresh air; don’t let that foolish sister of mine put ideas into your head.” She stopped abruptly as Hugh Wyndham stepped out of his aunt’s bedroom and joined them.
“Good afternoon, Miss Deane,” he commenced cordially, but she returned his greeting so perfunctorily that Millicent’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and, reddening, Wyndham turned to his cousin. “Are you going to motor in to Washington with us, Millicent? Better come; you don’t have to leave the car or talk to anyone,” guessing the cause of her hesitancy.
“True—” but still Millicent paused.
“I think you had better go,” put in Vera quietly, and barely glancing at Wyndham she went to her own room.