"I guess I do," said Alice. "Can you connect me with his number?"
"Sure," the operator said.
"Miss Brennan," said Fred softly, ''you are sticking your neck out, if I may be so bold.''
They heard Innes calling, faindy, beyond the closed sliding doors.
A voice on the phone said, "Yes?" with a great patience.
"Dr. Follett? This is Alice Brennan speaking. I am at the Whitlock house."
The voice said, "Yes?'' very cautiously. Fred slipped into the sitting room, and Alice thanked him with her eyes.
"Mr. Innes Whitlock is here," she said crisply into the phone, "and he has been quite ill. I wonder if you could come and have a look at him?" "Who is this speaking?"
"Alice Brennan. I am with Mr. Whitlock. I am his . . . secretary," Alice said desperately. "Please come if you can, Doctor. Because Mr. Whitlock wants to drive on to his camp, and I'm not sure he ought to try it" "I see. You wish me to come there?" "Yes, of course,'' she said impatiently. "Do you know where we are? The Whitlock house. It's on a hill." Silence sung on the wire for a moment "Yes, I know," the voice said finally. "Very well." "Thaok you," Alice said with relief. She hung up the phone, looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. It might be sticking her neck out, as Fred had said; but she had a
strong feeling that this was no time to be passive, that it would be dangerous to keep her mouth shut and swallow her own opinions. The sisters thought he ought not to go. It was only Innes who insisted. And if she, Alice, kept still and let him have his way, she could see very plainly how her acquiescence would be open to blame if anything happened.
Besides, she resented illness, in herself and in others. She was impatient with it, and she had no confidence in her ability to take care of Innes if he should become violently ill again on some lonely road. The whole situation annoyed her very much.
How, she wondered, could a little veal in a meat loaf make anybody as sick as that? And how could a man susceptible to such a reaction eat meat loaf without asking what was m it? And, for that matter, how could those who knew his idiosyncrasy have the bad judgment to feed him veal, ever? Alice did a littie pacing up and down.
Presently the front door opened and Isabel came in, followed by a stranger, a dimipling of a little old woman, with pink cheeks and white hair, exactly like a character out of a book of fairy tales. She wore a shabby black coat over a cotton print dress and a velvet hat on the back of her head like a halo. She looked as if she had come in a hurry.
So did Isabel. "How's Innes?" She imwound her shawl with twisting shoulders.
"Better, I guess." Alice smUed uncertainly at the stranger.
"Well, Susan, you'd better see him and try to tell him he must stay here."
"I do agree with you. Miss Isabel," said Alice quickly.
The litde old woman said in a matter-of-fact voice, "You must be Alice."
"Yes, I'm Alice Brennan." Isabel, with queer discourtesy, had gone back to the closet under the stairs to put her shawl away.
"I'm so glad to meet you. Especially if you're going to marry my son."
''Sion!" Alice was so utterly astonished that she staggered.
Isabel said, "Susan was my father's second wife and In-
nes's mother, of course." She seemed aggrieved that there should be any surprise about it.
"I'm s-sorry,'' Alice stammered. "I really didn't know you lived here." Or anywhere, she might have added.
''I live in. a cottage part way down," said Ihnes's mother placidly. She made no move to take her hat and coat off. She was quite obviously transient here, not at home m the Whitlock house. "I'm so happy that you thought to call me, Isabel. Not only because of Innes." She smiled at the girl.
Alice smiled back, with reservations. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Innes's mother. She was whole of limb. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. She had a sweet and vigorous voice. The extraordinary pink cheeks were real, not painted. She looked a thoroughly pleasant old lady, but Alice was a burnt child and she was wary. She said nothing.
Fred opened the sliding doors. "Miss Brennan . . .'' Then his whole face warmed and glowed with smiling welcome. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Innes."
"Hello, Fred," said Susan. "How are you?''
"Fine. Just fine."
"And how's your mother?" she said, passing through the doors in front of him.
"She's fine, thank you," Fred said. "Just fine." The doors slid together.
Alice felt suddenly lonely and cold.
"Was that Susan Innes?" Gertrude's voice, lyrical with surprise, came to them from the back of the hall. The tall thin form moved with her swaying walk, toward them. She wore no coat but something cool and fresh that clung around her and reached Alice's senses, made her sure that Gertrude had been out of doors.
"Yes," said Isabel briefly. "I went to get her."
"Whatever for?" said Gertrude.
"Because Innes thinks he will drive to his camp, in his state, and he really must not," Isabel said. "He really must not."
"He certainly ought not," Gertrude said. "Susan, however . . . Miss Brennan, I really think you are the one best able to persuade him."
With a start, Alice realized that her presence was
known to the blind woman. "I've tried," she said. "As a matter of fact, IVe called the doctor."
"Doctor!" cried Isabel.
"Yes. Dr. FoUett."
''Child," Gertrude said in a moment, "child, what have you done?"
"Fve . . . called the doctor," Alice said in another moment. She kept her voice matter-of-fact, but she was getting angry.
"Oh, dear," said Isabel. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear."
"We do not call Dr. Follett," Gertrude said. "Never. You ought to have asked. He can't be coming. Not here."
"But he is coming," Alice mamtained stoutly, "or so he said. And I'm sorry, but I do not understand."
"No. Of course, you couldn't," said Gertrude with surprising indulgence. "Nevertheless it is . . . well ... Of course"—she drew herself up stiffer if possible— ''we did not call."
"If he's coming," said Isabel, "we must warn Maud."
"Where is Maud?"
"I haven't the famtest idea," said Alice. "Nor have you the faintest idea how annoying all this mystery is to me." She spoke angrily. Then she held her breath for their reaction.
Isabel's eyes shifted. "My dear Alice," she complained, "it's so awkward. Of course you couldn't know, my dear. When Maud was younger she and Dr. Follett. . . Well, he was her suitor. . . ."
"Dr. Follett," said Gertrude in her cool tinkling voice, "went away on what we supposed was a vacation. He married another woman and brought her here to Ogaunee. Of course, we have had no communication with him since."
"I see," said Alice gravely, although she wanted to laugh. "How long ago was this. Miss Whitlock?"
"It was in 1917," Gertrude said, as if time stood still for her and this was just the other day.
"But what do you do for a doctor?"
"Oh, Dr. Gunderson is only eleven miles away," said Isabel. "Really, Alice, you ought to have asked. How dreadful for Maud, for all of us."
Maud was approaching through the dining room. That tread, at once quick and heavy, was the unmistakable con-
comitant of her waddling gait. She came through the door in a moment, shapeless in a dark cloak. She too, had been out of doors. Alice idly wondered where and why.
Isabel spoke to her on the swift fingers of her only hand. Alice watched the pale heavy face, waiting for news to seep through to whatever brain worked behind those little pig eyes that blinked once or twice, but remained fastened on the fingers. She saw the face change, grow sly. The loose hps fell open in a queer smile. The eyes sharpened. Surely the expression was that of anticipation and imholy joy.
Maud said, in her chest tones, "Is that so?"
Isabel's hand worked madly.
"Aw, let him come," said Maud.
"She must not see him," said Gertrude sharply. "She must go upstairs at once." Her voice rang with command. Maud looked planted there on her two Siick stems. Gertrude struck her on the shoulder with her forefinger. Her blind face was imperious.