Viola, looking up from a piece of antique jewelry which Kate was displaying, was startled by the sadness of her mother's face, and directed her next glance upon Morton, in the wish to discover the cause of her trouble. That the interview had been very grave and personal was evident, and with a sense of having been the subject of discussion, she rose to meet them.
Kate did not permit any explanations, for dinner was waiting and time limited. "Go fetch Mr. Lambert, Morton: unless we want to be late at the play we must go out at once."
Morton was glad of the interruption, for he was eager to have his understanding with Viola before the mother could bring any adverse influence to bear upon her. As they went out into the dining-room, side by side, he found her nearness sweeter and more concerning than ever before; and with a realization of having in a very vital way staked his immediate future upon her word, he was unusually gay, masking his persistent, deep-hid doubt in jocose remarks. Lambert seconded him with quiet humor, and together they caused even the mother's face to relax its troubled lines, while Viola, yielding to a sense of freedom and of youth, shook off all constraint, responding to Morton's unspoken suggestion, thinking only of him and of the secure, bright world in which he dwelt (and in which he seemed so large and so handsome a figure), and in this confidence and comfort they came to the mixing of the salad, which Kate slangily explained to be Morton's "particular stunt." He had fully assembled his ingredients, and was about to approach the actual, delicate blending when the maid appeared at his elbow to say that he was wanted at the telephone.
"Well, tell them to wait," he replied, testily. "This is a very precise moment."
"I told them you were at dinner, sir, but they said it was important."
He rose with a sigh. "I hope my 'whiff of garlic' won't settle into a steady breeze. Be patient a moment, kind people."
With mild wonder as to what the news might be, he took a seat at his desk and put the receiver to his ear.
"Hello. Who is it?"
A hurried, eager, almost breathless boyish voice responded. "Is this Dr. Serviss?"
"It is."
"Can you tell me where Miss Viola Lambert and her mother are?"
"I cannot." By which he meant he was not empowered to do so.
"I was told they left Pratt's house with you sometime this afternoon."
"Have you inquired at the Courtleigh?"
"No. I was so sure--"
"Try either the Courtleigh or the Colorado," replied Morton, in the tone of authority.