"I knew she was unhappy," replied Bertha, in a curiously hard tone. "She's been miserable ever since she's been back. I don't know what made her make up her mind, but she told me she wished she could run away home. I told her not to be silly and that I shouldn't hear of such a thing. I meant to see she didn't get any pretext for permission to go into town. Then, as she says here, one of the weekly boarders told her she knew this part of the country, and you were going not far from her home, at Frattenton, and Frattenton's on the main line for our home—no changing."
"Where exactly is this place, Frattenton?" asked Duane quickly.
"The other side of the downs—four or five miles away. The road to it runs right over the downs."
"And it's the nearest railway station from here?"
"Yes."
During the couple of minutes taken by this hurried conversation, Kitty had stood silent, listening, not knowing what was really the matter, but gathering that it was something serious.
Neither offered to show her the note; she realized that there was some mystery about it that Duane and Bertha both knew all about, but that they did not wish to share with anyone else. She did not ask any questions, but waited to see what would be required of her.
Duane turned to her.
"Erica's gone," she explained. "She's run away home. She's slipped off across the downs to Frattenton, to the railway station there."
Kitty nodded.