“Oh, I don’t mean her name, of course. But what was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did she come from?”
“London, I believe.”
“Oh! I say, that’s a queer go, Merceron.”
“I don’t know what to think about it. She’s simply vanished,” said poor Charlie, and no one should wonder if his voice faltered a little. Calder Wentworth laughed at many things, but he did not laugh now at Charlie Merceron. Indeed he looked unusually grave.
“I should drop it,” he remarked. “It don’t look—well—healthy.”
“Ah, you’ve never seen her,” said Charlie.
“No, and I tell you what—it won’t be a bad thing if you don’t see her again.”
“Why?”