“Did Ulpian tell you good-by?”
“No, I have not seen him. Where has he gone?”
“To New York.”
The long walk and sultry atmosphere had unwontedly flushed the girl’s face, and the damp hair clung in glossy rings to her brow; but, as Miss Jane spoke, the blood ebbed from 87 cheeks and lips, and sweeping back the dark tresses that seemed to oppress her, she asked, shiveringly,—
“Is Dr. Grey going back to sea?”
“Oh no, child! An old friend is very ill, and telegraphed for him. Sit down, dear,—you look faint.”
“Thank you, I don’t wish to sit down, and there is nothing the matter with me. When will he come home?”
“I can not tell precisely, as his stay is contingent upon the condition of his friend.”
“Is it a man or woman whom he has gone to see?”
The astonishment painted on Miss Jane’s face would have been ludicrous to a careless observer, less interested than the orphan in her slow and deliberate reply.