“Is Miss Gretel Schiller there?” inquired a man’s voice, certainly not her brother’s, for it had a decidedly foreign accent.
“I am Gretel Schiller.” Gretel did not know why her heart was beating so fast, or why her voice trembled.
“Ah, that is good. I have a message from my niece, Anna Sieling.”
Gretel gave a little gasp of relief. It was only Fräulein, after all, not Fritz.
“Is Fräulein there?” she asked. “Does she want to speak to me?”
“She is here, but she cannot come to the telephone. She is very ill.”
“Very ill!” repeated Gretel, in a tone of real distress. “Oh, I am so sorry! Is there anything I can do for her?”
“If you could come to see her this afternoon? She is most anxious to see you. She is to undergo a serious operation, and fears she may never recover.”
“I’ll come, of course; I’ll come right away,” cried Gretel. “But—but how did you know I was in town?”
“We did not know; we only hoped. You wrote my niece that you would probably leave New London on the fifth, and we thought you might be remaining over a few hours in New York. There could be no harm in inquiring. Anna has been asking for you all day.”