Mary, the trusted servant of the years, opened the door to him.
"Good morning, Mary," he said familiarly, for he had been almost as much at home in the Sheldon house since childhood as in his own home. "Is Marguerite up yet? I don't like to disturb her, but she was to have some measurements written out for the things she wanted me to get for the Hospital Fair, and I rather think she is expecting me to see to it this morning."
"Miss Marguerite is away, Mr. Nelson," said Mary with disapproval in her voice.
Mary had been with the family too long not to know every time one of the beloved family winked an eye or shed a tear, and Mary felt that things were all wrong just now; the idol of her heart crying and carrying on all day and then running away on the midnight train, and her mother going at daybreak! It certainly was not right.
"Away?" said Nelson. "Why, she was here yesterday, wasn't she? Her mother told me she was lying down with a headache last evening when I telephoned."
"Sure she was here last evening," said Mary, glad to get someone to share her troubles. "I don't know whatever her mother was thinking about to let her go, and her having headaches and crying and all yesterday. But young folks, seems to do about as they please nowadays."
Whitney cast her a pleasant grin, but his eyes showed that he was troubled.
"Well, I guess then I'll have to see Mrs. Sheldon. If she isn't about just ask her, please, if Marguerite left any word with her. Or, if she's asleep yet or anything, just look on Marguerite's desk and see if you find a paper with my name on it. She's likely written it out and left it there."
"M's Sheldon's gone too," burst forth Mary. "She left on the five o'clock with some woman was here all evening and come back and stayed all night, what there was left of it when they got packed."
Whitney looked up startled.