After a minute’s deliberation, Sally wrote her reply “Will come at once.  Leave to-night if possible,” and sent the boy off with it.  As he departed Jarvis came into the hall from the door at the rear.  Sally turned with an exclamation of surprise and relief.

“Oh, I thought you had gone.”

“Without saying good-by?  You ought to know better.  But I’d have been off when the others went if I hadn’t had some unexpected magneto trouble.  All right now, and I’m going at once.  What’s that?” as he caught sight of the yellow envelope in her hand.  “No bad news, I hope?”

“Uncle Timmy’s very sick—­up in New Hampshire.  I’m going to him as fast as I can get off.”

“Uncle Timmy?  Oh, I’m mighty sorry!  You’re going, you say?”

“Of course.  He asked me to come.  I was just going to telephone to find out about trains.”

“I’ll see to all that—­if you must go.  But, Sally—­have you let Max know?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you sent an answer saying you will come, on your own responsibility?”

Sally’s slight figure drew itself up.  “Why not?  There’s nothing else to do but go—­and if there were, I wouldn’t do it.”

“It will take you at least twenty-four hours to get there.”

“Yes.  What has that to do with it?”

Jarvis’s face looked as if he thought it had a good deal to do with it.  He knew that, dress as quietly as she would—­and Sally’s dressing for the street meant always the plainest and simplest of attire—­there was that about her which invariably attracted attention.  He understood with just what a barrier of youthful reserve she would be likely to surround herself upon such a journey, but he understood also that barriers of reserve are not all the defences sometimes necessary for a girl who travels alone.  For one moment he felt as if he must go along to take care of her, in the next that nothing could be more out of the question.

“I’m glad it’s no farther, anyhow,” he replied to Sally’s quick question.  “But hadn’t you better let the boys know, before you go at your preparations?  Max wouldn’t be pleased at not being consulted, you know.”

“Will you tell him, please?  But first find out what train I must take, so you can be definite with him.”

“But, Sally—­really—­shouldn’t you ask old Maxy’s consent?”

“Why?”

“Well—­it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“I don’t care one bit about diplomacy.  Uncle Timmy’s sick and wants me.  I’m going up to get ready.  You can telephone what you like.”  With something in her voice which sounded suspiciously like a sob, she ran away up the stairs.

Knitting his brows, Jarvis went into the west wing to the telephone, that instrument having been promptly installed upon the Burnside family’s arrival for the summer.  After considering a minute he called up a railway ticket-office and learned that the best through train Sally could take would leave at 5.30 that afternoon.  His watch told him that it was then nearly half after three.  There must be rapid work if Sally was to catch that train.  Then he had Max on the wire.  Statement, question, and answer now came back and forth in quick succession.