“What has happened, Violet?” repeated Mrs. de Lancey.

Violet had, woman-like, in spite of her condition caught the stern look that her aunt had shot at Warrington.

“Nothing, now,” she replied with a note of defiance.  “Lucille—­ seems to have been a—­a bad woman—­friendly with bad men.  Mr. Garrick overheard a plot to carry me off and telephoned Mortimer.  Fortunately when Mortimer went up home to warn us, he found the letter and knew where I was going to-night.  Ill as he was, he came all the way to the city, followed me into that house, saved me—­ even before Mr. Garrick could get there.”

Violet’s duenna was considerably mollified, though she tried hard not to admit it.  Garrick seized the opportunity and poured forth a brief but connected story of what had happened.

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. de Lancey as he finished, “you children ought to be very thankful it isn’t worse.  Violet, I think I’ll call up the house physician.  You certainly need a doctor.  And as for you, Mortimer,—­you can’t go to your apartment.  Violet tells me it is all burned out.  There’s an empty suite across the hall.  I’ll telephone the room clerk and engage it for you.  And you need a doctor, too.  Now—­there’s going to be no more foolishness.  You’re both going to stay right here in this hotel until you’re all right.  Your mother and I were great friends, Mortimer, when we were girls.  I—­you must let me play mother—­for her sake.”

I had been right about Mrs. de Lancey.  Her voice softened and I saw a catch in Warrington’s throat, too, at the mention of the mother he remembered only hazily as a small boy.

Violet and Warrington exchanged glances.  I fancied the wireless said, “We’ve won the old lady over, at last,” for Warrington continued to look at her, while she blushed a bit, then dropped her eyes to hide a happy tear.

Mrs. de Lancey was bustling about and I felt sure that in another minute every available bellhop in the hotel would be at work.  As Warrington might have said in his slang, “Action is her middle name.”

Garrick rose and bade our two patients a hasty good-night, tactfully forgetting to be offended by their lack of interest now in anything except each other.

“I doubt if they get much chance to be alone—­not with that woman mothering them,” he smiled to me, drawing me toward the door.  “Don’t let’s spoil this chance.”

Mrs. de Lancey was busy in the next room, as we stopped to say good-bye to her.

“I—­I can’t talk to you—­now, Mr. Garrick,” she cried, with a sudden, unwonted show of emotion, taking both his hands in hers.  “You—­you’ve saved my girl—­there—­there’s nothing in this world you could have done for me—­greater.”

“Mrs. de Lancey,” replied Garrick, deftly changing the subject, “there’s just one thing.  I’m afraid you are—­have been, I mean,—­a little hard on Mr. Warrington.  He isn’t what you think—­”