“If she is that sort of girl,” he said decidedly, “she would at least want to meet and talk with the man who saw the last of her father. No, there's something else in it, and I think that I ought to find her. Don't you?”
She hesitated.
“I'm afraid I can't advise you,” she said; “only if she has taken so much pains to remain unknown, I am not sure—I think that if I were you I would assume that she has good reason for it.”
“I can see no good reason,” he said, “and there is a mystery behind it which I fancy would be better cleared up. Some day I will tell you more about it.”
Evidently Ernestine was weary of the subject, for she suddenly changed it. She led him on to talk of other things. When at last he glanced at the clock he was horrified to see how long he had stayed.
“You'll remember, I hope, Miss Wendermott,” he said, “that this is the first afternoon call I've ever paid. I've no idea how long I ought to have stayed, but certainly not two hours.”
“The time has passed quickly,” she said, smiling upon him, so that his momentary discomfort passed away. “I have been very interested in the stories of your past, Mr. Trent, but do you know I am quite as much interested, more so even, in your future.”
“Tell me what you mean,” he asked.
“You have so much before you, so many possibilities. There is so much that you may gain, so much that you may miss.”
He looked puzzled.