Madame was a strange spectacle. She wore a quilted maroon robe, which she held clutched together at her throat. Most of the hair that was usually piled and coiled about her head had vanished; what little remained was surprisingly gray and was twisted up in front and over the ears in curl papers of the old-fashioned kind.
Henry lowered his gaze; it seemed indelicate to look at her. He discovered then that he was still wearing his hat, and took it off with a low, wholly nervous laugh that was as surprising to himself as it certainly was, for a moment, to Madame Watt, who surveyed him under knit brows before centring her attention on the unconscious figure on the bed.
'We owe you a great deal,' she said then. 'It was awkward enough. But it might have been a disaster. You've saved us from that.'
'Oh, it was nothing,' murmured Henry, blushing.
'Are you sure no one saw? You didn't take him to the station?'
'No. We drove straight out.'
'Hm! When you came did you ring our bell?'
'Me? Why, no. I was going to. But——'
'Yes?'
'She—your—Miss——'