“If only Patricia will keep out of it,” he said to himself as he neared the hall door, “or if I could only catch old Hugh first. But he is not much of a help in this sort of thing. Dash it all! I am quite nervous. This will never do. Must find a way—good effect—cool and collected stuff.” So, ruminating and praying and moving ever more slowly, he reached the door. Coming in sight of his party, he hurried to meet them. “Awfully sorry!” he exclaimed excitedly. “The most rotten luck! Old Maitland's just been called off.”
“Called off!” cried Patricia, in dismay. “Where to!”
“Now, don't jump at me like that. Remember my heart. Met that Johnny—the big chap dancing with Annette, you know—just met him—quite worked up—a hurry call for the girl—for the girl, Annette, you know.”
“The girl!” exclaimed Patricia. “You said Captain Jack.”
“I know! I know!” replied Vic, somewhat impatiently. “I am a bit excited, I confess. Rather nasty thing—Annette's brother, you know—something wrong—accident, I think. Couldn't get the particulars.”
“But Annette's brother is in Toronto,” said Adrien, gravely.
“Exactly!” cried Vic. “That is what I have been telling you. A hurry call—phone message for Annette—horrible accident. Maitland rushed her right away in his car to catch the midnight to Toronto.”
“By Jove! That is too bad,” said Hugh, a genuine sympathy in his honest voice. “That is hard luck on poor Annette. Tony is not exactly a safe proposition, you know.”
“Was he—is he killed?” cried Patricia, in a horror-stricken voice.
“Killed! Not a bit of it,” said Vic cheerfully. “Slight injury—but serious, I mean. You know, just enough to cause anxiety.” Vic lit another cigarette with ostentatious deliberation. “Nasty shock, you know,” he said.