“I saw her. She thought it was odd, but supposed you had gone with them. What could have started them off in that fashion?”
“Well, well, don’t let’s stand here talking. Come on.”
We did not stop for ceremony. Rushing up stairs, we donned our hats and coats, and made our way out to the sidewalk without losing any time. I hailed a carriage, and we drove rapidly out of town. It was about half past one o’clock when we arrived home. There were lights in our room and in Mrs. Pinkerton’s chamber. George followed me up stairs, and I tapped at the door of our room.
“Is it you, Charlie?” said Bessie’s voice.
“Yes,—and George.”
She opened the door. It was evidently not long since their arrival home, for she had not begun to undress.
“Explain, for our benefit, the new method of leaving a party,” said George, “and why it was deemed necessary to give us a scare in inaugurating the same.” He threw himself into an easy-chair.
“Perhaps Mr. Travers is better able to tell you why mother should have left in the way she did,” said Bessie, trying to make her speech sound sarcastic and cutting, but finding it a difficult job, with her breath coming and going so quickly.
“The deuce he is!” roared George. “Come, Charlie, what have you been up to? I must get it out of some of you.”
“I am utterly unable to tell you why your mother should have left in the way she did,” was all I could find to say.