There was a silence at first, and then Henrietta said, “I’m not going to reprove you, Elsie, I feel too sorry for you to do that, but I am going to ask you not to trump up any more such foolish yarns as the one you spun about the white shoes!”
“What became of the shoes, then?” asked Elsie, bluntly.
“What shoes? There are no especial shoes to be considered. Drop the subject, dear. Such harping on it makes it seem as if you were not quite calmed down yet.”
“And I’m not, and I never shall be, until Kimball is given back to me! I’m going to find him, myself, I don’t care what that detective says. Who is going to help me?”
“I, for one,” said Henry Harbison, promptly. “I’m mighty sorry for you, Miss Powell, and you may command me as you like.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harbison; I know you’re a firm friend of Kimball’s and I gladly accept your friendship also.”
“I suppose you know you can depend on me to see you through, without any definite avowal,” said Fenn Whiting, smiling.
“Of course, Fenn, you are my right-hand man. But I want all the help I can get.”
“We’ll help you, Elsie,” Henrietta began, but Elsie only gave her a scornful glance.
“When you are ready to help, Henrietta, begin by telling me about your white shoes.”