Various plans floated through his head.  He might bring her into the house, and make some sort of an explanation to the servants, but what would the explanation be?  He could not tell them the truth about her, and how would he explain the matter to his mother and sister?  For they might return before he did, and would be sure to ask innumerable questions.

And the girl—­would she go with him?  If not, what should he do with her?  And about her dress?  Was it such as his “friend” could wear to one of Mrs. Parker Bowman’s exclusive dinners?  To his memory, it seemed quiet and refined.  Perhaps that was all that was required for a woman who was travelling.  There it was again!  But he had not said she was travelling, nor that she had just returned from abroad, nor that she was a musician.  How could he answer such questions about an utter stranger, and yet how could he not answer them, under the circumstances?

And she wore no hat, nor cloak.  That would be a strange way to arrive at a dinner How could she accept?  He was settling his coat into place when a queer little bulge attracted his attention to an inside pocket.  Impatiently he pulled out a pair of long white gloves.  They were his sister’s, and he now remembered she had given them to him to carry the night before, on the way home from a reception, she having removed them because it was raining.  He looked at them with a sudden inspiration.  Of course!  Why had he not thought of that?  He hurried into his sister’s room to make a selection of a few necessities for the emergency—­only to have his assurance desert him at the very threshold.  The room was immaculate, with no feminine finery lying about.  Cornelia Dunham’s maid was well trained.  The only article that seemed out of place was a hand-box on a chair near the door.  It bore the name of a fashionable milliner, and across the lid was pencilled in Cornelia’s large, angular hand, “To be returned to Madame Dollard’s.”  He caught up the box and strode over to the closet.  There was no time to lose, and this box doubtless contained a hat of some kind.  If it was to be returned, Cornelia would think it had been called for, and no further inquiry would be made about the matter.  He could call at Madame’s and settle the bill without his sister’s knowledge.

He poked back into the closet and discovered several wraps and evening cloaks of more or less elaborate style, but the thought came to him that perhaps one of these would be recognized as Cornelia’s.  He closed the door hurriedly and went down to a large closet under the stairs, from which he presently emerged with his mother’s new black rain-coat.  He patted his coat-pocket to be sure he had the gloves, seized his hat, and hurried back to the carriage, the hat-box in one hand and his mother’s rain-coat dragging behind him.  His only anxiety was to get out before the butler saw him.