But as he reached the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop herself turning away from the door.
"Why, Miss Winthrop," he cried, "you're not going _now!_ You can't have been here any--yet!" "Well, no, I--I haven't," retorted the lady, with heightened color and a somewhat peculiar emphasis.

"My ring wasn't answered." "Wasn't answered!" Bertram reddened angrily.

"Why, what can that mean?
Where's the maid?
Where's my wife?
Mrs.Henshaw must be here! She was expecting you." Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently.

Hence he was quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had been improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who had been attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur.

As Bertram spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and piped up a shrill reply.
"She ain't, Mr.Henshaw! She ain't here.