Steve was bracing himself up for another attack when suddenly there
came a sound of voices from the stairs. One voice was a mere murmur,
but the other was sharp and unmistakable, the incisive note of Lora
Delane Porter. It brought Steve and Mamie to their feet simultaneously.
'What's it matter?' said Steve stoutly, answering the panic in Mamie's
eyes. 'It's not her house, and I got a perfect right to be here.'
'You don't know her. I shall get into trouble.'
Mamie was pale with apprehension. She knew her Lora Delane Porter, and
she knew what would happen if Steve were to be discovered there. It
was, as Keggs put it, as much as her place was worth.
For a brief instant Mamie faced a future in which she was driven from
Bill's presence into outer darkness, dismissed, and told never to
return. That was what would happen. Sitting and talking with Steve in
the sacred nursery at this time of night was a crime, and she had known
it all the time. But she had been glad to see Steve again after all
this while, if Steve had known how glad, he would certainly have found
courage and said what he had so often failed to say, and, knowing that
Mrs. Porter was out, she had thought the risk of his presence worth
taking. Now, with discovery imminent, panic came upon her.
The voices were quite close now. There was no doubt of the destination
of the speakers. They were heading slowly but directly for the nursery.
Steve, not being fully abreast of the new rules and regulations of the
sacred apartment, could not read Mamie's mind completely. He did not
know that, under Mrs. Porter's code, the admission of a visitor during
the hours of sleep was a felony in the first degree, punishable by
instant dismissal. But Mamie's face and her brief reference to trouble
were enough to tell him that the position was critical, and with the
instinct of the trapped he looked round him for cover.
But the White Hope's nursery was not constructed with a view to
providing cover for bulky gentlemen who should not have been there. It
was as bare as a billiard-table as far as practicable hiding-places
were concerned.
And then his eye caught the water-proof sheet of the shower-bath.
Behind that there was just room for concealment.
With a brief nod of encouragement to Mamie, he leaped at it. The door
opened as he disappeared.
Mrs. Porter's rules concerning visitors, though stringent as regarded
Mamie, were capable of being relaxed when she herself was the person to
relax them. She had a visitor with her now, a long, severe-looking lady
with a sharp nose surmounted by spectacles, who, taking in the white
tiles, the thermometer, the cot, and the brass knobs in a single
comprehensive glance, observed: 'Admirable!'
Mrs, Porter was obviously pleased with this approval. Her companion was
a woman doctor of great repute among the advanced apostles of hygiene;
and praise from her was praise indeed. She advanced into the room with
an air of suppressed pride.
'These tiles are thoroughly cleaned twice each day with an antiseptic
solution.'
'Just so,' said the spectacled lady.
'You notice the thermometer.'
