After his departure Madame Yvonett remained seated in the little parlor, her knitting in her lap and her usually industrious fingers at rest, while her thoughts centered themselves on Tom’s account of the disappearance of his coin.
“I wish Marjorie had not been present,” she said aloud.
“Did you call me?” inquired Miss Rebekah, as she divested herself of her coat and gloves in the hall. “All alone, Cousin Yvonett? Why, Marjorie told me she was surely coming in to be with you.”
Marjorie had fully intended stopping in to see her aunt that morning, but she had been delayed in reaching Center Market, and afterwards, having an errand to do on F Street, she had decided to walk instead of taking a street car. Turning the corner at Ninth and F Streets she came face to face with Chichester Barnard.
“What good luck to meet you!” His tone of pleasure was convincing in its heartiness, and Marjorie’s eyes danced. “Which way are you going?”
“To Brentano’s.”
“I have an errand there, too,” falling into step beside her. “I had a telephone a short time ago from Miss Janet asking me to lunch with them.”
“She said she intended to invite you;” some of the sparkle had disappeared from Marjorie’s eyes. “Can you come?”
“Yes, fortunately this is not a very busy day with me,” he raised his hat to Mrs. Walbridge who passed them in her automobile. “Are you and Miss Janet going to Mrs. Walbridge’s Christmas Eve dance?”