“Gee!” murmured Laurie. But he and Ned followed obediently and stared questioningly at Polly while somewhere at the rear of the little house, a bell jangled in response to her tug at the brown crockery knob. “What’s the big idea?” whispered Laurie to Mae, who was nearest. But Mae only shook her head. And then, with such promptitude as to suggest to Ned that he had not just imagined that face at the front window, the door opened, and Miss Comfort was giving them welcome. There were introductions in the small hall, during which Ned trod on Laurie’s foot and Laurie pushed Mae into an umbrella-stand which had once been a length of drain-pipe and which now bore a faded design of cat-o’-nine-tails and swallows; and then, somehow, they were all seated in the front parlor, Laurie, who had neglected in the confusion to leave his cap in the hall, trying to stuff it into a side pocket.
The room was not over-furnished. There was a walnut sofa covered with faded green rep across one corner, a marble-topped walnut table between the two front windows, a bookcase midway of the inner wall, a number of straight chairs placed formally along the sides of the room, and an easy-chair at each window. There were also two foot-stools covered with crewel work, one of which Ned narrowly escaped, and a brightly hued Brussels carpet. A fireplace, surmounted by a white marble shelf, was blankly, inexorably closed by a glossy black sheet of iron. Two gilt candelabra adorned the ends of the mantel, and a black marble clock, whose stumpy hands had stopped at twelve minutes to nine on some long-past day, stood squarely in the center. There was a purple and green square of embroidery on the table and a few books of unexciting appearance. Everything was spotlessly clean, immaculately neat, depressingly orderly.
Polly and Mae, as usual, crowded into one of the easy-chairs, and Miss Comfort sat erectly in the other. Miss Comfort proved to be small and rather thin, with lightish hair that wasn’t brown and wasn’t white. She had small, delicate features and dark eyes that remained very bright and clear. Miss Comfort might be nearly seventy, as Polly had stated, but there was something youthful in her pleasant face, her quick movements, and her thin, soft voice. Laurie was receiving these impressions when that thin, soft voice pronounced his name and he discovered that his hostess had turned from the girls and was looking toward him, her head pushed forward a little as if, despite their brightness, her eyes were not as serviceable as they had been.
“Mr. Laurie,” Miss Comfort was saying, “I want to thank you for your interest in my affairs. I do think it was extremely kind of you to send that telegram to my brother-in-law. Although I am convinced that nothing will come of it, I assure you that I appreciate your helpfulness.”
It was rather a precise and formal little speech, and it is probable that Miss Comfort had prepared it in advance of the occasion. It left Laurie surprised and sputtering.
“But—but—why, that’s all right—if you mean—”
Polly came to his rescue: “It was mama who told, Laurie. She really didn’t mean to, but if you knew her as well as I do you’d know that she simply can’t keep a secret, no matter how hard she tried.”
“Oh,” said Laurie. “Well, you don’t need to thank me—us a bit, Miss Comfort. I—we were mighty glad to do anything we could, and we wish there was more we might do. I guess Polly’s told you that that—er—that your brother-in-law hasn’t answered yet.”
Miss Comfort nodded. “Yes, and I’m not surprised. Mr. Goupil is a very busy man, I suppose, and I dare say he hasn’t time to—to look after all matters himself.”
“Well, if you ask me—” began Laurie indignantly.