“Ah!” ejaculated Vane, looking up suddenly, her cold, blue eyes shining like stars. “Reuben Morris has gone to Australia, you say?”
“He starts at the end of the week; he left Hurstley for London this morning.”
“And the girl is with him?” next queried Miss Charteris.
“She must be. The cottage is shut up, the key has been sent to the Weald, and the neighbors tell me they saw both the man and the girl leave early this morning.”
“Could Mrs. Bright give you no clew as to where her son has gone, or intends to go?”
“None. She gave me his note to read, in which he merely says he shall leave England for a while. This girl has bewitched him. A marriage with him would have been the best she could expect—indeed, much too good for her,” remarked Mrs. Crosbie, coldly. “What do you propose to do now, Vane?” she added, rising.
“Nothing. I have finished. Aunt Constance, the game is ours. Do you not see that this young man has gone to Australia with them?”
Mrs. Crosbie removed her driving-gloves slowly.
“I scarcely think that Vane,” she replied, “for Margery Daw has refused to become his wife. His mother is highly incensed and greatly troubled, poor creature, about it. No, I cannot think that, Vane.”
“It will prove to be the truth, nevertheless,” Miss Charteris said, quietly; adding, “and, as such, it is welcome as a full and complete solution to a difficult and disagreeable question. Poor Stuart—I am sorry for him!”