hands over it.

"I'll see to the waiter," he said. "I'm stayin' in this hotel. You cut
along and tell your lady friend she's got till ten o'clock to-night to
explain herself, not a minute more. Good day to you, Miss Baby Doll!"

Without answering, Clo walked out of the room, ashamed that her knees
were weak, and hoping that she could get safely to the car without
making a fool of herself. Physically, it was a great relief to lie back
against the soft cushions of robin's egg blue, and shut her eyes. What
would Angel do when she heard how dreadfully the errand had failed?

Clo had forgotten the difficulty of making Sister Lake believe, without
a fib, that she and Mrs. Sands had only just come in from their drive
together. But she remembered as she went up in the elevator. It was very
late now--long after five. Sister was sure to be cross; but if she were
cross only with Clo, and not Mrs. Sands, that wouldn't matter.

Few things work out according to expectations. Sister Lake had been at
the window, it seemed, when the car brought back Mrs. Sands and Clo
before four o'clock, and had been alarmed when the former descended to
hurry alone into the house.

"I was afraid you'd fainted," she said when Clo arrived at last. "I flew
out of this room to go down in the elevator, and bumped into Mr. Sands
in the hall, and while I was apologizing and making him understand she
appeared on the scene."

"My goodness, the fat _is_ in the fire!" Clo thought desperately. Aloud
she said: "Well?"

"She said you wanted to go to tea with someone, and she was hurrying to
her room to get money for you, so that you could stand treat. I
objected, as I had a right to do," went on Sister Lake. "You're still my
patient, if my time is up to-morrow. And if you have a relapse I shall
be in a nice fix, as I'm due at Mrs. Jardine's Tuesday morning! Mrs.
Sands really acted very queer, she was so determined you should go. Even
when her husband backed me up, she was as obstinate as--as--if she
wasn't such a sweet woman, I should say a pig!"

"It was my fault," pleaded Clo. "I'm not tired a bit." Yet as she
argued, a voice was saying inside her head: "No wonder the poor darling
was a long time coming down with the parcel!"

But this, though exciting enough, was as naught beside the great
question: "What would Beverley say, what would she feel, when Clo had to
confess all that had happened at the Hotel Westmorland?"

VII

THE QUEEN'S PEARLS