Katie came swiftly into the room, and I heard an exclamation of surprise from Dicky.

“Why, Katie, wherever did you come from?”

But Katie, with a scream of fear, her face white with terror, backed into the kitchen.  I heard her opening the door where she had put her hat and cloak, then the slamming of the kitchen door.

I looked at Dicky in amazement.  What did it all mean?

He caught up his hat and dashed to the front door.

“Quick, Madge!” he called.  “Follow her out the kitchen door as fast as you can.  I’ll meet you at the servant’s entrance!  I wouldn’t let her get away for a hundred dollars!”

I obeyed Dicky’s instructions, but with a feeling of disgust creeping over me.  I have always hated a scene, and this performance savored too much of moving picture melodrama to suit me.

I hurried down the two flights of stairs and on toward the servant’s entrance.  I was almost there when Katie came flying back, almost into my arms.

“Oh, Missis Graham,” she moaned.

“You kind lady.  I pay it all back.  I always have it with me.  Don’t let him put me in prison.  I work, work my fingers to the bone for you.  If you only not let him put me in prison.”

Dicky came up behind us.  As she saw him she shrank closer to me in a pitiful, frightened way, and put out both her hands as if to push him away.

“Don’t be frightened, Katie,” he said.  Come to the house and tell me about it.”

“Bring her into the living room and get her quieted before I talk to her,” suggested Dicky, as he disappeared into his room after I had got her upstairs.

Bewildered and displeased at this bizarre situation which had been thrust upon me, I ushered Katie into the living room and removed her hat and coat.  She trembled violently.

I went to the dining room and from a decanter in the sideboard poured a glass of wine and, bringing it back, pressed it to her lips.  She drank it, and the color gradually came back to her face and the twitching of her muscles lessened.

When she was calmer I took her hands in mine and, looking her full in the face in the manner which I had sometimes used to quiet an hysterical pupil, I said slowly: 

“Listen to me, Katie.  You are not going to be put in prison.  Mr. Graham will not harm you in the least.  But he wishes to talk to you, and you must listen to what he has to say.”

Her answer was to seize my hand and cover it with tearful kisses.  I detest any exhibition of emotion, and this girl’s utter abandonment to whatever grief or terror was hers irritated me.  But I tried not to show my feelings.  I merely patted her head and said: 

“Come, Katie, you must stop this and listen to Mr. Graham.”

Katie obediently wiped her eyes and sat up very straight.

“I am all right now,” she said quaveringly.  “He can come.  I tell him everything.”