“A telephone has just come from your butler, Miss Preston,” he explained, “to ask you to return home. He said Mrs. Ward was quite ill.”
Evelyn pushed aside her plate. “I’ll go at once,” she announced. “But the rest of you need not come until later.”
“I have finished.” As she spoke Marian rose and Maynard also tossed aside his napkin and stood up.
“Wait a minute,” remonstrated Burnham. “We’ll all go with you, Evelyn. Here, waiter, bring me the check, and, Maynard, engage a touring car outside, will you?”
Nodding assent, the actor sped on his errand, leaving the others to follow more slowly. He was fortunate in securing a seven-passenger car, and Burnham bundled his party into it with small ceremony.
“We are right in your neighborhood,” he said as Palmer drew back, “the car can leave you after it has taken us home. There’s plenty of room, Palmer, jump in.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Evelyn, “it would expedite matters to stop for Dr. Hayden.”
“If he is not at your house I can go for him and bring him right over,” answered Palmer, and Burnham agreed.
“Good idea,” he said shortly. “I hope I am not crowding you, Evelyn?” as she shrank against Marian in making room for him on the back seat.
“Oh, no,” she replied and sat silent, grateful for the cool night air which fanned her cheeks. She had tried to forget the mysterious tragedy while in the hotel; had even barely mentioned it to Marian when she picked her up at her apartment to take her out to dinner, but the sudden summons home had brought it vividly before her. Suddenly she caught Maynard’s eyes and his cheery smile gave her a sense of comfort. As the car turned into Connecticut Avenue he leaned forward and addressed Marian Van Ness.