“What is the matter?” I exclaimed.
“Niece Martha,” replied Aunt Di, sinking into a chair, “Iris has disappeared!”
Grand tableau, in which Sara took part from the majestic bed.
“She went to her room an hour ago,” pursued Aunt Di; “it is next to mine, you know, and I went in there just now for some camphor, and found her gone!”
“Dear, dear! Where can the child have gone to?”
“An elopement,” said Aunt Di, in a sepulchral tone.
“Not Mokes?”
“No. If it had been Mokes, I should not have—that is to say, it would have been highly reprehensible in Iris, but—However, it is not Mokes; he is sound asleep in his room; I sent there to see.” And Aunt Diana betook herself to her handkerchief.
“Can it be John Hoffman?” I mused, half to myself.
“Mr. Hoffman went up to his room some time ago,” said Sara.