“What's the trouble?” demanded Cyril in answer to the look on the other's face.
Bertram lifted his eyebrows oddly.
“I'm not sure whether you'll call it 'trouble' or not,” he replied; “but I think it's safe to say that Billy is gone—for good.”
“For good! What do you mean?—that she's not coming back—ever?”
“Exactly that.”
“Nonsense! What's put that notion into your head?”
“Billy's letter first; after that, Pete.”
“Pete!”
“Yes. He came to me a few minutes ago, looking as if he had seen a ghost. It seems he swept Billy's rooms this morning and put them in order against her coming; and tonight William told him that she wouldn't be here at present. Pete came straight to me. He said he didn't dare tell Mr. William, but he'd got to tell some one: there wasn't one single thing of Miss Billy's left in her rooms nor anywhere else in the house—not so much as a handkerchief or a hairpin.”
“Hm-m; that does look—suspicious,” murmured Cyril. “What's up, do you think?”