“Do you think you will ever find her?” Phyllis asked him wearily on his next trip to Marchton.
He smiled confidently, much more confidently than he felt. “Of course. You know the saying—‘There’ll come a day.’”
“But it seems so hopeless now—after all this time!” Phyllis said. “Sometimes I think——”
Brent smiled at her, his light quizzical smile. “You are really fond of Gale, aren’t you?”
Phyllis nodded, a lump in her throat so that she could not speak.
“So am I,” Brent said, his eyes on the automobiles passing in the street. “I won’t give up until I find her.”
Phyllis pressed his arm. “I hope you find her—truly I do. I know she likes you—a lot.”
Brent smiled upon her again. “You make me feel a lot better,” he said. “I really needed some cheering up—more than I would admit.”
Soon after that he was off for Canada again. At first he went to the hotel in Quebec where he had made his headquarters. There was no mail for him nor any word of Gale. He went down to the street and found the car and chauffeur he had hired until his shoulder should be well enough for him to drive himself. He directed the man to drive north. He had no specific destination, he proposed to merely drive through the northern roads again in the hopes of meeting someone or finding something that would lead to Gale.
It was late in the afternoon when they came to a small French village where they stopped for the luncheon they had missed. The chauffeur had much more of an appetite than Brent and while he waited for the man Brent decided to explore the little village. The streets were quaint and expressed the simplicity and charm of the inhabitants. He turned from the contemplation of an old Frenchman, who was sunning himself in the doorway of his home, to look at two girls making their way out of town. Their arms were laden with bundles and a small collie scooted ahead in front of them. But Brent had eyes merely for one of the girls. Was it possible? He passed a dazed hand across his eyes. Could he be mistaken?