She sat yawning in the
empty ferry building, smiling over her recollection of dinner at the
Tolands': the laughter, the quarrels, the joyous confusion of voices.
Suddenly struck by the deserted silence of the waiting-room, Julia
jumped up and went to the ticket office.
"Isn't there a train at 10:03?"
The station agent yawned, eyed her with pleasant indifference.
"No train now until 12:20, lady," said he.
For a moment Julia was staggered. Then she thought of the telephone.
A few minutes later she climbed out of the station omnibus again, this
time to be warmly welcomed into the Tolands' lamp-lighted drawing-room.
Barbara and her mother were still at the yacht club, but the old doctor
himself was eagerly apologetic. Doctor Studdiford, Ned, and Richie added
their cheerful questions and regrets to the hospitable hubbub, and
Sally, who had been at the piano, singing Scotch ballads to her father,
took possession of Julia with heartening and obvious pleasure.
Sally took her upstairs, lighted a small but exquisitely appointed guest
room, found a stiffly embroidered nightgown, a wrapper of dark-blue
Japanese crepe, and a pair of straw slippers.
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