For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross quarters, where for several hours she was accustomed to sew, she encountered Mrs. Speedwell and her lively daughter, Connie––her gossiping informants concerning her son’s appearance at Delmonico’s with the mysterious girl in black.
“Well, what do you suppose, Helen?” said Mrs. Speedwell, mischievously. “Jim’s pretty mystery in black is here!”
“Here?” repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking around her at the rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing madly side by side.
“Yes, and she’s prettier even than I thought her in Delmonico’s,” remarked Connie. “Her name is Palla Dumont, and she’s a friend of Leila Vance.”
During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient to speak to Leila Vance; and they exchanged a pleasant word or two––merely the amiable civilities of two women who recognise each other socially as well as personally.
And it happened in that way, a few days later, that Helen Shotwell met this pretty friend of Leila Vance––Palla Dumont––the girl in black.
And Palla had looked up from her work with her engaging smile, saying: “I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. Is he quite well? I haven’t seen him for such a long time.”
And instantly the invisible antennæ of these two women became busy exploring, probing, searching, and recognising in each other all that remains forever incomprehensible to man.