"Tell her a sister of Professor Serviss."
Simeon turned quickly. "Serviss--ain't he one of the men that Clarke talks of having on the committee? Are you his sister?"
Kate bowed. "Yes; my brother met Miss Lambert in the West."
Pratt's face cleared. "Well, well! I will send her right down. Your brother is the kind of man we want to reach," he added, as he went out.
"Now, Dr. Britt," began Kate, firmly, "I want you to keep that boresome old man occupied while I talk with these women. I don't want him putting in his oar."
"I'll do my best," he answered, manfully, "up to the measure of gagging him. I can't agree to order him out of the house."
Kate was on her chair's edge with interest as she heard the rustle of skirts and the murmur of a pleasant voice, and when Viola, flushed, smiling, beautifully gowned, entered the room with outstretched hand, she rose with a spring, carried out of her well-planned reserve by the warmth and charm of the girl's greeting. She closed her gloved palm cordially on the fine hand so confidingly given. "I am glad to know you. My brother has spoken so enthusiastically of you."
Viola's flush deepened. "Has he? I assure you we speak often of him. I suppose he is too busy with his wonderful microbes to come and see poor, commonplace creatures like us."
"He is busy, but he only learned of your presence a few days ago."
Viola turned. "Mother, this is Mrs. Rice, Professor Serviss's sister."
Kate liked Mrs. Lambert also, for she was looking remarkably handsome in a black gown of simple pattern. "If these are adventuresses they are very clever in dress," was her inward comment. "I don't wonder Morton was captivated." And she presently said: "Can't you take me to your own room? I want to talk secrets with you."
"Yes, let us do that." Viola turned to her mother. "Let's take Mrs. Rice to our sitting-room."
Mrs. Lambert assented timidly, with a quick glance towards Simeon, who was garrulously declaiming to Britt concerning the wonders of another painting by the Swedish cook.
Pratt, seeing the women rise, approached. "Where are you going?" he asked, with a note of impatience in his voice.
"To my room," answered Viola, firmly, and led the way up-stairs in silence; but when they were beyond earshot in the hall above she bitterly exclaimed: "He spies on everything I do. He will hardly let me out of his sight. I am beginning to hate him, he has so little sense of decency."
"Viola!" warned the mother.
"I don't care," retorted the girl, defiantly. "Why do we endure him--we are not dependent on him. He treats us precisely as if he owned us, and I'm tired of it. I wish papa would come on and take us home."