Felicia laid down the receiver and looked at me. There was scarcely any need for words. Her disappointment was written into her white face.
"You are not to come!" I said.
"I am not—to come," she repeated. "After all, my holiday is not yet."
"Will you tell me," I asked, "where I can find your uncle?"
She shook her head.
"You must not ask me such a thing," she declared.
"Remember," I said, "that I have really called to make his acquaintance as a matter of courtesy on behalf of my brother. What excuse do you give me for his absence? Tell me what it is that you are supposed to say in such a case?"
"Simply that he is away for a few days, engaged in the most important business," she answered. "He will rejoin me here directly it is settled."
"And in the meantime," I said thoughtfully, "you are left in a strange hotel without friends, without a chaperon, absolutely unprotected, and with only a head-waiter in your confidence. Felicia, there is something very wrong here. I am not sure," I continued, "that it is not my duty to run away with you."
She clasped her hands.