“I can’t go. Do this thing for me, Everard. I never asked you anything before.”
He looked at her with a face half serious, half cold, then turned in the direction of the west wing.
Mariana sat down on one of the many chairs—a solitary figure in that big empty hall, with clasped hands and shrinking form, fearing vaguely.
Everard knocked at Mr. Barringcourt’s door, and obeyed the summons to go in. Before Everard could speak the Master looked up, and said, with a pleasantness not always customary in him:
“Good morning, Everard! When Rosalie Paleaf has had breakfast, I want you to see her. Don’t forget to tell Mariana. What is it?”
“She has disappeared in the night!”
“Who?” and the dark brows contracted slightly as he looked across at the speaker.
“Rosalie Paleaf.”
“Disappeared in the night? Tell fairy stories to those that believe them.”
“She is not in her bedroom, nor the corridor to which she was restricted.”