"I just wondered. She is to meet us here."
"When? In heaven's name! When?"
"She ought to be here now."
Alice thrust backward a palsied hand and, clutching the young man she had danced with, dragged him forward. He was shaking hands with Ten Eyck, and brought him along.
"Stowe! Stowe!" Alice exclaimed, with a tragic fire that did not greatly alarm the young man; he was apparently used to little else from her.
"Yes, dear," he answered, with a lofty sweetness; and she cried:
"Oh, honey, what do you suppose?"
"What, dear?"
"That awful Mother of mine is expected here any moment!"
The young man's majesty collapsed like an overblown balloon in one pop: "Lord!"