In the front hall Mr. Richard Fenton was awaiting her arrival.
“We are leaving on an early train in the morning for New York, if you can manage to be ready, Tory. Your Aunt Victoria will help you pack your bag. I don’t think there is any cause to be alarmed. I have just received a telegram from Dr. McClain asking me to join him as soon as possible and to bring you. Please don’t worry or I shall be sorry to have had to mention the telegram to you to-night. If you wish to be of service, Tory dear, you must keep your self-control.”
At the Grand Central Station Mr. Fenton and Tory found not only Dr. McClain and Dorothy awaiting them, but Mr. Jeremy Hammond.
Tory’s first impression was surprise at his unexpected presence. She had not seen him since the summer before in Beechwood Forest, when he had insisted upon investigating more thoroughly the evergreen cabin in quest of information with regard to Katherine Moore. Nothing had come of the search save a package of letters apparently of no importance.
During the winter Kara had written that Mr. and Mrs. Hammond had come frequently to see her, bringing the small girl whom they had adopted from the Gray House on the Hill.
Not the faintest envy had ever influenced Kara. Tory had never been able to dispel a slight resentment that Mr. Hammond’s choice had fallen upon the exquisite wilful little girl rather than upon Kara.
Mr. Hammond had come to the Gray House to seek for Kara. She was the child he had discovered in the deserted cabin years before. His sudden fascination with Lucy’s youth and beauty caused him to disregard Kara’s finer possibilities. However, he had afterwards proved himself Kara’s friend and been deeply interested in her recovery. Tory concluded that she had no right to harbor any grievance. Assuredly Kara would seriously object to such an emotion.
The instant after greetings had been exchanged, Dorothy slipped her arm through the newcomer’s and drew her apart from the others.
Tory found herself afraid to look closely at her friend.
Would Dorothy’s face reveal strain and unhappiness from the past few days.
“Lance?” she queried with the first glance, and felt a sense of relief before the reply.
Dorothy appeared grave, even disturbed, but not unhappy.