"Go to the office," she said, "and find out if Mrs. Joshua Holt is in, and the number of her room. And take me to the telephone booths. I'll wait there."
She asked the telephone operator to call up Mr. Spence's house at
Quicksands—and waited.
"I'm sorry, madam," he said, after a little while, which seemed like half an hour to Honora, "but they've had a fire in the Kingston exchange, and the Quicksands line is out of order."
Honora's heart sank; but the bell-boy had reappeared. Yes, Mrs. Holt was in.
"Take me to her room," she said, and followed him into the elevator.
In response to his knock the door was opened by Mrs. Holt herself. She wore a dove-coloured gown, and in her hand was a copy of the report of the Board of Missions. For a moment she peered at Honora over the glasses lightly poised on the uncertain rim of her nose.
"Why—my dear!" she exclaimed, in astonishment. Honora!"
"Oh," cried Honora, "I'm so glad you're here. I was so afraid you'd be out."
In the embrace that followed both the glasses and the mission report fell to the floor. Honora picked them up.
"Sit down, my dear, and tell me how you happen to be here," said Mrs.
Holt. "I suppose Howard is downstairs."