in ten minutes and, with a sigh and a shrug of the shoulders, she walked out and started her car.
Carmelita listened to the screeching and gratings as Lucy shifted her gears badly, and felt better. At least she had been successful in not breaking down in her visitor's presence. She had learned in the past few months that Lucy Hodge was an entertaining fair-weather friend but a bad confidante in an emergency. Lucy's mind only seemed to work when she was scheming something for her own interests. Otherwise it was shallow and lazy. There was no use confiding in her.
So her father was in New York. An hour away, and he could do so much for her if he only would. Why, it would be nothing for him to write her a check for five thousand dollars, if he could bury his pride enough to do it and if he wouldn't ask questions, and she could give it to Rao-Singh and have done with him forever.
On an impulse she took the telephone and ealled the Ritz-Carlton Hotel—Lucy had not mentioned where he was stopping but he always went there. There was a little confusion in getting the connection and Carmelita tapped her foot impatiently. "Hello," said the man at the desk, and she inquired eagerly if Don Caesar de Cordoba were registered.
