Mrs. Walters had said nothing of the kind, but Dorothy had known the lady for years, and had long ago devised a method of securing information from her.
“He didn’t even wait for dessert, my dear. He probably went to the movies or remembered some other date. Boys are like that!”
“Terry isn’t.” His father spoke up. “He must have been going to pick someone up and give them a lift down here—then blew a shoe or something. Still, I don’t like it. I hope the boy hasn’t met with an accident.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Reggie! You make me feel positively faint. I know he has gone to the pictures.” Mrs. Walters was nervously emphatic. “Don’t be so silly, dear—I know he has.”
“You know nothing of the kind,” declared her husband.
“But, Reggie dear—”
Dorothy hurriedly excused herself and went back stage.
But by the time the final curtain was rung down, no Terry had appeared. Dorothy was really worried. Betty was giving a party to a number of the cast at her house in White Oak Shade, but despite protests, Dorothy made her regrets and went to look for her father.
“I think I’ll beat it for home, Dad,” she announced, buttonholing him near the door.
“I’ll be along in a few minutes, darling. I certainly am more than extra proud of you tonight. I never realized what an actress you are. But you look troubled—anything the matter?”