“Don’t call him ‘poor’—he is rich in accomplishment,” rapped out Vera. “Think what he has done for the Allies; get Mrs. Porter to tell you of the honors paid Craig by the gallant Frenchmen, and never call him poor again.”
“I wasn’t alluding to his past, but his present,” explained Dorothy, somewhat startled by the gleam in her sister’s eyes. “I understand he can’t utter a sound or move a muscle.”
“He can’t.” She paused as Millicent’s voice echoed down the hall. “Go, dear, they are calling you.”
But Dorothy lingered. “Have you any errands I can attend to for you in town?”
“N-no—wait.” Vera spoke hurriedly as steps approached. “See if you can find my package of visiting-cards—”
“I told you months ago, Vera, that you hadn’t any left,” interrupted Dorothy.
“Perhaps you can find an old one, even if it’s black-edged, in my desk—”
Dorothy shook her head violently. “I can’t; I looked there at Christmas and could not find any kind of a card. Coming right away, Murray,” as the footman appeared. “Do you wish me to order some cards struck off?”
“Yes,” called Vera. “Pay for it with the money I gave you yesterday.” And Dorothy disappeared with Murray in attendance.
Vera waited until convinced that the limousine must have driven off, then, tossing the blue cape with its small picturesque red cross about her shoulders, she opened the side door and, skirting the back of the house, walked swiftly past the garage. Passing down a lane she crossed a field and went up a path leading to the “side hill,” as that part of the Porter plantation was called.