“Never mind that,” said Henrietta, hurriedly, “I don’t mind her raving. But I think she must notify the guests that they must not come. It is getting late, and, you see, if—if Kimball should return, they can be married just the same, but—”
“But you know he will not return!” Elsie stormed at her. “You think you can calm me by saying such things, but you know he can’t return until you let him!”
Miss Webb smiled, as with kindly indulgence of a disordered mind, and said, gently,
“For your own sake, Elsie, meet the situation as well as you can.”
“It isn’t Henrietta’s doing,” put in Mrs. Webb, solemnly, “I understand it all; I know—”
“Never mind, Mrs. Webb,” Elsie stood up suddenly; “I’ll hear your theories some other time. As Henrietta says, for my own sake, I must do the best I can. I will, too. I’ve decided. I shall give myself till two o’clock,—it’s half-past one now, and if Kimball hasn’t appeared by that time, I shall telephone to my dearest friends; I shall ask you, Henrietta, to telephone to your people,—those you can reach. Fenn will look after the ushers and the church matters,—and,—I must go home now, I’ve a lot to do.”
Her hearers were not surprised at this change of demeanour. Elsie’s nature was mercurial. Quick of decision and of action, she had sensed her position and had risen to the emergency. She would have time afterward for emotion, for investigation, for sorrow even, but now there was much to be done.
“Will you send me home?” she asked of Henrietta, who nodded. “Come with me, Fenn,” she went on, “and, if you please, Henrietta, I want this room fastened against all comers. I must insist upon this; I have some rights, I am sure. See to it that nobody enters until after I come again.”
Miss Webb looked a little rebellious at this dictation, but, fearing to rouse the girl’s anger, she promised.
“That is, unless Kim comes home,” she said, but Elsie only gazed at her with an accusing eye.