A negro servant came up presently. "A young lady to see Mr. Carew."
"Did she say what she wanted?" Carew demanded.
She had not, it seemed, except that it was important.
"She's probably selling books. You go down, Merry."
Meriweather went and returned. "She says that she must see you; that she's a relative. Her name is Hildegarde Carew."
"Never heard of her."
"She insists it is important."
"But, great guns—I never get up at this time in the morning."
"I told her that, and she said she would wait."
"Let her wait then. Put her in the library and have Sampson take in something to eat. I'll finish this and dress—"
Meriweather, delivering the message, put it pleasantly. The girl was a lady and not to be treated with incivility. Mr. Carew was much occupied with an important matter until noon. Could she wait?
She could. Meriweather led the way to the library and gave orders to Sampson for refreshment.
The girl protested. "I really don't want anything."
"You must have had an early breakfast. It is a long ride from Baltimore."
"I didn't have any breakfast. I came through last night from the West and went straight up to Mr. Carew's office. They told me he was out here and that he had retired from active business."
