“You are satisfied that no harm has come to our friend,” he said pleasantly. “Of course you recognized him?”
“Oh, yes; we met him to-day,” said Phoebe. Her provincial pride impelled her to keep up a show of security and indifference. “We are going to supper with him.”
Clarence slightly lifted his brows.
“You are more fortunate than I am,” he said smilingly. “I only arrived here at seven, and I must leave at midnight.”
Phoebe hesitated a moment, then said with affected carelessness:—
“What do you think of the young girl who plays with him? Do you know her? Who is she?”
He looked at her quickly, and then said, with some surprise:—
“Did he not tell you?”
“She WAS the adopted daughter of Mrs. Peyton,—Miss Susan Silsbee,” he said gravely.
“Then she DID run away from home as they said,” said Phoebe impulsively.