"That she refused to divulge. All we could prevail on her to confess was, that she had taken it the night of the ball, and that she did not think it was of any value; but seeing how much trouble Missy was in,—and Missy going away to England, she was plenty sorry."
"Stolen the night of the ball—sold for twenty rupees, and Quentin showed it to me the next morning!" exclaimed Lisle.
After this summing up, he and Mrs. Durand looked at each other for about twenty seconds, in dead silence.
"Where is Miss Denis now?" he inquired in a kind of husky whisper.
"I wish I could tell you! I'm a miserable correspondent; I never answered her last letter, written from a school at Kensington. I would rather walk two miles than write two pages. It's very sad, and gets me into great disgrace. But though I do not write, I don't forget people. As soon as I arrived at home I went off to this school to see Helen, and to make my peace."
"Yes?"
"The house was all shut up, blinds down in every window, the cook in sole charge, every one else away for the holidays. The cook only showed half her face through the door, and was not at all inclined to be communicative; but I gave her something to help her memory, and then she recollected, that six weeks before the school broke up, the English governess had gone away sick, but she understood that she had not left for good.—School opens again on the 1st of September," added Mrs. Durand significantly.
"Meanwhile, where is she?"
"That is more than I can say."
"Perhaps her cousins would tell you," glancing over at the Miss Platts.