“Well; we have not given much yet,” she said. “The child’s friends ought to have passed an anxious night. But I begin to think they have left her on purpose. Children are forsaken sometimes.”
“The position in which she was found hardly gives one that impression,” said Mr. Meredith.
Another hour passed, and at length, not long before dinner, two dripping figures appeared within the front door. Dulcibel ran eagerly out of the drawing-room, regardless of certain smiles caused there by her impulsive movement. But Joan’s rush of welcome was even quicker than Dulcibel’s. George put them both off with his hands.
“No; don’t touch me; I am soaked,” he said in his hearty voice. “We have had a day of it, I assure you. Couldn’t possibly come back to lunch, or we would have done so, Dulcie; but I knew you would understand. Well, Joan, have you been good?”
“Have you found out anything, Georgie?” asked Dulcibel with eagerness.
“Yes; I will tell you presently,” said George, in rather a grave tone. “Nothing certain yet, but very probable. No, Joan, you must stand off. I can’t be handled till I am dry.” In a lower voice George added—“Somehow it does not look as if the non-return of the mother could have been accidental.”
“I told you so!” Dulcibel averred.
George imagined that she had “told him” exactly the opposite, but he wisely entered on no discussion.