At last she started a little as a man came up the drive toward the house. He appeared to be a city clerk, but, though Merril had not yet gone out, she did not recognize him as one of those in her father's service. He turned when he saw her and came straight across the lawn, and Anthea felt a thrill run through her as she noticed that he had an envelope in his hand.
"Miss Merril?" he said. "Mr. Jordan sent this with his compliments."
Anthea thanked him, but did not open the envelope until he turned away. Even then she almost felt her courage fail as she tore it apart and took out a strip of paper that appeared to be a telegraphic message addressed to Jordan.
"Held up by fog and got ashore, but arrived here undamaged. Clearing again morning," it read, and the blood crept into her face as she saw that it was signed, "Wheelock Shasta."
For the next five minutes she sat perfectly still, conscious only of a great relief, and then she roused herself with an effort as Merril came out of the house.
"A telegram!" he said, with a smile. "Who has been wiring you? Have you been speculating?"
"In that case, don't you think I should have come to you for information?" asked Anthea, who was mistress of herself again.
"I'm not sure that you would have been wise if you had," said Merril, with a whimsical grimace. "I don't seem to have been very successful with my own affairs of late. Anyway, you haven't told me what I asked."
Anthea was never quite sure why she placed the message in his hand. She was aware that he was not interested in the subject, and would certainly not have pressed her for an answer. In fact, he very seldom inquired as to what she did, and had never attempted to place any restraint upon her. He glanced at the message, and then turned to her again.
"Wheelock to Jordan. Friends of yours?" he said. "You would probably meet them at Austerly's."
"Yes," said Anthea, "I think I may say they are."
It was essentially characteristic of Merril that he showed no displeasure. He was indulgent to his daughter, and one who very seldom allowed himself to be led away by either personal liking or rancor. For a moment he stood still looking down at her with a dry smile, and, because no father and daughter can be wholly dissimilar, Anthea bore his scrutiny with perfect composure.