"From the rear portal"—with an indefinite wave of the hand—"she turned that way."
"Oh! She went! To that Crosby girl! And I forbade her!—Mr. Farvel, come!"
"But I'm not wanted," urged the clergyman.
"Why do you hold back? Don't I want you?"
Farvel pondered a moment, his look on Hattie, standing in the bay-window, now, alert but motionless. "Well, I'll come," he said at last.
"Dora!" cried Mrs. Milo, as she fluttered hallward; "my bonnet!"
Dora had gone by the same door through which she had come. Hattie and Farvel were alone. She turned and came to stand beside him. "Why do you suppose——" she commenced; and then, more bluntly, "What was the matter with Miss Crosby?"
Farvel studied her face for a moment, his own full of anxious sympathy. "I can't imagine," he said, finally; "but whatever it is you may be sure of one thing—Wallace isn't to blame."
Hattie's look met his. "It's queer, isn't it?" she said; "but that—well, that doesn't seem to be troubling me at all." Then for no reason whatever, she put out her hand. He took it, instantly touched. Her eyes were glistening with tears. She turned and went out into the Close.
Farvel stood for a moment gazing after her. Then remembering his promise to Mrs. Milo, he hastened in the direction of his study.