“And has that been called?”
He nodded. “For to-morrow morning, I understand. There is some technicality which is causing unexpected delay.” They were almost at the bottom of the stairs when he caught sight of Betty Carter standing in front of the fireplace talking to Doctor Roberts. Alan ceased speaking with such abruptness that he drew an inquiring glance from Miriam, of which he was totally unaware. Doctor Roberts gave her no time for thought, however. Coming hastily forward, he reached her side in time to help her on with her coat.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “But there were certain matters.... Bless my soul, Alan, more reporters!” as the gong over the front door sounded with startling suddenness. “Betty, my dear,” turning to address the silent girl by the fireplace, “you had better disappear if you don’t wish to be interviewed.”
“I’ll see them; don’t worry,” exclaimed Alan, as he swung open the front door. But instead of the anticipated reporters, he was confronted by a small familiar figure bundled up in expensive furs. “Mrs. Nash!”
“Just so!” Mrs. Nash lowered the high collar of her coat as she came further into the living room, and collapsed in the nearest chair. “Let me get my breath. Dear me, I’m half frozen!” and she chafed one cold hand over the other. “Come here, Betty, and help me off with these things.”
“Why, Aunt Dora!” Betty hastened to her side. “How imprudent of you to come all the way out here! You will surely be ill.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Mrs. Nash, through chattering teeth. “I got out of a sick bed to come here, and Pierre, the wretch, ran out of gasoline a mile away and I had to walk through the snow or sit in the car and freeze to death. Good gracious, Alan! don’t stand there looking at me; get me something warm to drink. I am having a chill.”
“A hot water bag, also,” added Doctor Roberts, hastening to her assistance as Mrs. Nash struggled out of her coat.
“I can find whisky more easily than the latter,” answered Alan, and sped for the dining room. Miriam Ward was close behind him and helped him pour out a generous allowance from the carefully concealed decanter.
“I saw a hot water bag hanging in your cousin’s bathroom,” she said. “I will get it and have it filled if you will give this stimulant to Mrs. Nash.” She paused by the door. “Is Mrs. Nash’s husband a clergyman?”