"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick, cracking a walnut.
Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked.
"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head. Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do next. She has been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it."
"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She has missed her."
"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove her to the station? When did she go? Here we are, sitting calmly here and nobody thinks of asking any of these questions."
"It was Miles who told me she had not come back," said Mrs. Clinton. "She was as surprised as I was."
"Ring the bell, Dick," said the Squire.
"I think you had better go up, mother, and see what she took with her," said Dick. "Don't say anything to anybody but Miles, and tell her to keep quiet."
Mrs. Clinton went out of the room. Dick closed the door which he had opened for her, came back to the table, and lit a cigarette. "There's something queer, father," he said, "but we had better make it seem as natural as possible. I shouldn't worry if I were you. I'll find out all about it and bring her back."
"Worry!" snorted the Squire. "It's Cicely who is going to worry. If she thinks she is going to behave like that in this house she is very much mistaken."